


dedicate this to all that good pipe in the moonlight

by toro (sapoeysap)



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Ensemble Cast, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slow Build, Threesome, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapoeysap/pseuds/toro
Summary: ‘All those numbers and letters, I’m just gonna call you Ace. You wanna see my whole-body Ace?’
Relationships: Mitch Evans/Alex Lynn, Stoffel Vandoorne/Norman Nato
Comments: 22
Kudos: 19





	dedicate this to all that good pipe in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> i once said i would never write alex and mitch, for fear that i would do injustice to genuinely one of the most well-written ships. this a mere imitation of some beautiful pieces, with tiny references to some of the works that have kept me going.
> 
> V, this is for all your good ideas and then trusting me to make something out of them. there are not enough ways to express my gratefulness for your continued presence in my life. and all the motivational sending of uh, shirtless pictures of drivers.  
> bears repeating that i treasure you like i treasure deutsch post. 
> 
> this piece is obviously fictional (and as such do not repost outside of ao3), it's not at all representative of how any of this would be in real life. that being said, pay for your porn.

It's probably a mistake, the way he has to pinch himself to make sure that he's not still on set. That this is, in fact, the lobby of his apartment complex. All potted plants with big heavy green leaves threatening to spill from their soil confines, push roots through concrete containers and bury deep down into the shiny faux marble flooring to make a home. Horrible LED lighting meant to feel welcoming and modern, instead, the sterile glow does nothing for his complexion but make him grateful his job is so far removed from office work. Unless he needs to be on that sort of set, of course.

There's a person, stood waiting at the elevators. Tall, foppish hair, too handsome to waste their figure and good looks on the boring beige outfit. Though Mitch has to admit, it does look like an expensive boring beige outfit, perfectly matched to colour compliment the cardboard box in their arms. Sunglasses perched on the tip of tousled brown hair. Rocking up and down on the balls of their feet like that might be the thing that makes the elevator hurry up. Considering his line of work, Mitch is awfully skilled at falling in love at first sight.

That's when it sinks in, they must be the person moving into his old apartment. The one he vacated because the Penthouse was available and hey, he's making enough to not not spend it. The content he's shot there makes twice as much as in the old apartment anyways. The city looks good at night, people like the implications of all the neon lights in the background of carefully framed shots. Neon lights that speak of late-night city desire that clientele prefer. Much better than the views offered by the smaller windows in the old apartment, hard to cover up with foliage and fairy lights. Mitch just hopes beige tall drink of water doesn't notice the dents in the walls. Or that one stain. Embedded in a sickly shade of rusty yellow ochre that just never budged.

He slinks over that with the sway in his hips that _does it_ normally, rakes in the big bucks. Laughs at his inner monologue at the realisation that just because he is a porn star, doesn't mean that he has to act out the cliché all the time. The closer Mitch gets the more he realises the look of impatience is more nervous, borderline anxious. As if the elevator doesn't get there now, they might have a breakdown.

'Heya, Mitch Evans, he/him, I guess you're the new tenant?'

Christ, he realises, that sounds like a line. He's not even sure if the hand extended saves it from being a total utter cliché.

Tall drink of water blushes, something akin to recognition runs through his eyes.

Reaches out a hand before promptly realising its what's holding the cardboard box up. Mitch hopes the way he hip checks the box, bouncing it with a heavy clunk into his arms before delicately placing his reusable cup on top, looks as effortless as he imagined it was in his own mind. Beige person has a smile threatening to pull his lips up fully from the anxiety grimace they are thinly pulled into. Which must mean it was another ten out of ten suave moment from Mitch.

'Lynn, Oh Alex Lynn. Uh, He/Him' Mitch is double fucked and not in the way he normally likes it. And it’s not just fucked by the accent, but on the awkward but endearing way Alex Lynn trips up over his own pronouns. He/Him spoken into the air like a question more than certifiable. Some people just don't even bother replying with pronouns. Mitch shouldn't even find it endearing that Alex bothered to do so. Human decency and all that. Alex' glasses have fallen into place in all the kerfuffle, he's pushing them back with delicate well-manicured fingers. If Mitch hadn't thought businessman before then he sure is now.

It's idle chatter, the kind you do while waiting for the elevator. And Mitch can't look away from how perfect Alex is. Probably because he also has to tilt his head up so far, drinking in all that lithe body, that has to be over six foot. In between, 'Nice Weather' and 'Oh no, I used to live there but I moved to the penthouse', Mitch wonders if the big feet rule is applying to Alex Lynn. Stereotypical as the logic is, it hasn't failed him yet.

When the elevator finally arrives, he's forced to peel his eyes away from Alex, to not make a complete arse of himself and stumble into the space.

Instead, he looks down at the cardboard box. 'Trophies and Pictures' it's labelled. Which sends his mind into even more of a spin. Unless it’s boring corporate trophies. Which for all he knows it might be. Explains the clatter from the cardboard as well.

The 'I moved from your apartment to the penthouse' line is enough to fuel actual conversation. Which lets Alex drop, 'Oh, I'm a lawyer actually. New Job, New City and all that'. Said in such a resigned way that it implies Alex knows what the follow-up question is. Mitch buries the 'daddies’ money' thought to the back of his mind, replies in kind. 'I've worked with a few Lawyers in my time', that comes across far more lasciviously than intended. Enough to turn Alex a deep shade of crimson, and Mitch to splutter out. 'God not like that', which he's not even sure how Alex had taken it. Probably not, 'Oh I've done some shoots where I pretend to be a good little rent boy for a handsome silver fox lawyer', but that's not really a line you can drop in a tiny elevator that is slowly, way too slowly, crawling up to the eleventh floor. Almost wishes there were some of his overpriced soy-milk caramel Frappuccino left in the reusable cup, just to sip on as a distraction. Knowing his luck at this point he'd probably manage to spit it all out in some sort of terrible double innuendo, ruining Alex's caramel shirt. And now his brain is running ahead with him at the thought. 

'Anyways, Alex Lynn', Mitch says, coolness restored as they finally make it to the eleventh floor. 'If you need a hand or anything, you know where I am'

'Penthouse, right. Oh, Mitch. Take a card'

The handover of boxes and business cards is less graceful then it should be. Probably not aided by the way the elevator doors keep beeping in anger as they try to close and are obstructed again and again.

Alex's fingers are warm as they slip the business card over. It's embossed. How pretentious.

Mitch would jerk off the moment he made it to his penthouse if he weren’t already so spent from the shoot earlier. Undone as usual by silly fantasies and the velvet feel of embossed cards. 'Alex Lynn, Lawyer' Next to a phone number, e-mail, and socials.

He flips the card over, scribbled onto the cream paper is a phone number.

Seven digits in black fountain pen have never been sexier.

\- ♡ -

There's a sinking down in his stomach that's already happening. Much like the twinges of cables shifting into place audible through the shiny metal door as the lift slowly descends to the ground floor. Alex knows reasonably, he should be taken this moment as a small reprieve. A stopgap before he has to pack another box of old memories into the spare room. Doomed to gather dust until the weekend, or the weekend after. When he can have the time off and not still feel like his body and mind are hurtling through all the cases and associated stress.

Reminds himself that this move, while not planned, is a good thing. That the new space here will do him well.

Close to his new office with an easy travel route. He's already hunted out a Starbuck's that's as off the beaten track as a multi-million-dollar corporation can be in colonising the high street as if he's some bloodhound with a nose for mediocre coffee and forced smiles.

All in all, everything's peachy, and this box so handily labelled in his finest sharpie scrawl 'Trophies and Pictures' will soon be buried in with the rest of its cardboard siblings for a hopefully brief graveyard trip.

And then he turns around, to sort of see if anyone else in the 'marketed for up and coming millennials' apartment hallway is also waiting for the snail place lift or if he should just bite the bullet and climb eleven floors. Probably not in these brogues.

There's a man, short, very handsome in a chiselled way. Alex knows his own features are sharp, but you could probably cut yourself on this man's jaw. Alex wouldn't complain. Chiselled handsome also seems strangely familiar, enough that he's probably studying a bit too intently as the man walks over, with a bounce to his hips that looks straight off a runaway. Extending a hand out as he reaches closer, while the other holds onto a Reusable Cup Alex knows costs around fifty quid.

'Heya, Mitch Evans, he/him, I guess you're the new tenant?'

Alex wills he doesn't get a boner there in the hallway just at the accent alone, these slack's will do nothing to hide that. This move is such a headache, instability in his wants so all over the place.

Instead, he lowers the cardboard box to extend his own hand before realising his mistake. Almost audibly winces at the sound of photo frames bouncing off against trophies as Mitch Evans with the chiselled face catches it gracefully, cardboard coming to rest with the expensive reusable cup balanced on top. The smell of coffee strong in the air. Nothing to make you feel out of place more than making a pig's ear of yourself when a stupidly hot man introduces themselves. He's a lawyer, capable. This is the third flat of his adult life. Takes a deep breath in, almost without meaning to and replies.

'Lynn, Oh Alex Lynn. Uh, He/Him', smooth. How he has any clients is a wonder. At least he didn't mess up the pronouns. Mitch Evans is smiling, all pearly whites pulling creases up at the corner of his mouth, distinct creases that Alex knows he knows from somewhere but still can't quite place. Then he say's 'Oh nice weather we're having' because he's clearly a walking British stereotype if the stupid Essex accent he can't ever seem to shake doesn't give him away. But the smile he receives in return is accompanied by a laugh. Before he knows it, they're embroiled in a full conversation. Mitch Evans of the familiar smile and perfectly even teeth mentions he used to live in the apartment Alex now gets to call home. Which is intriguing. Not sure how much he buys anyone who would want to move up instead of out, this apartment complex so catalogue appealing. Should probably stop naysaying the building when he hasn't even spent a night here proper.

The Lift does appear then. Metal doors opening with joyful glee.

It's empty, just to spite him more.

They slide in, with no break in the conversation. Mitch is still holding 'Trophies and Pictures' like it's not a heavy weight of Alex's failed hopes and dreams but instead just, 'Trophies and Pictures'.

'I'm a lawyer', he replies to Mitch's question. 'New Job, New City and all of that', hopes it comes across as sincere and not 'Yes I know I reek of Daddies money' though the practically all beige outfit probably doesn't help that. It's just comfortable, the actual outfit he had planned for the move in thrown into another cardboard box as everything got shuffled up. Meticulous plans shifted by no fault of his own.

Bemusingly Mitch responds with an almost Carry On-Esque 'I've worked with a few Lawyers in my time', accompanied by a wink Kenneth William's would be proud of. Before being quickly followed by a sputtered 'God not like that' and all loss of the cheeky confidence Mitch had been exhibiting just seconds before.

That's roughly when all the dots connect in his brain. As to who Mitch Evans is. Almost as if on cue, the lift comes to a stop on his floor. Doors sliding open with a cheerful 'Ding' that's at great contrast with the almost white noise in his head of everything he's ever seen Mitch in, almost goes weak in the knees at the thought that two lift trips before one of the boxes had been labelled 'DVDs' and contained under a layer of action films was almost all of 'Mitchell Blakes' films.

'Anyways, Alex Lynn', Mitch knows his name, rolls it off the tongue. Alex can do nothing but step of the Lift. Realising he's left the other man in the vestibule with his belongings. Spins around to see the cardboard box in an outstretched hand. 'If you need a hand or anything, you know where I am'. Alex probably would want more than Mitch's hand. That thought alone is enough to make his face feel close to on fire, burning blush spreading across his cheeks, surely evident even with Mitch a few good metres away.

Practically a miracle then that he manages to reply 'Penthouse, right. Oh, Mitch. Take a card', without stumbling over any words. They both stumble over the handover of business cards and cardboard boxes though. Orchestrated by the aggressive 'please stand clear of the closing doors' chirped by the lift which makes Alex angry nostalgic in the 'Used to commute through rush-hour London' way.

The doors slide closed on Mitch's smiling face, warm crinkled smile, and hazel eyes.

That's when Alex realises, he's handed over the card with his personal phone number scribbled on the back.

Of course, the box he drops 'Trophies and Pictures' on to is the one labelled 'DVDs', the peeled packing tape almost a cruel smile at Alex's misfortune. That if he drops to his knees and removes the layer of _Top Gun_ and _Rush. Fat Fucking Cocks_ one through four starring 'Mitchell Blake' will be waiting for him. Gleaming with a toothy smile that not even Tom Cruise could replicate.

Only he could manage to give his phone number to a porn star.

Then he remembers how Mitch had said he used to live in this apartment. And Alex wants to die a little bit more. He should have known from the walls.

Comedic then, if it weren't so sad, how he almost skids into the bathroom, brogues squeaking on the floor. Just to realise it’s the one he's paid just shy off too much to see Mitch jerk off in the bath too, covered in suds, sensually rubbing hands over his broad chest. How Alex had convinced himself that the cost of the video was worth it not just for the way Mitchell Blake's moans had echoed in the tiled room, but for the clever camera angles in between succulents and candles dotted along the bathroom. Like Mitchell was some sort of modern-day Tarzan, in an overpriced Apartment jerking off for OnlyFans.

He'd expected the move in to be a lot of things, including stressful, but never for this sort of reason. Creeping up almost as a movie plot, to bizarre to really be real.

Almost wants to scream. Instead, shuffles out the front door to head out back the elevator, all the way down to the ground floor. There are two more boxes in the removal van calling his name. Then he can jerk off in the bathroom one hundred percent not thinking about the fact that Mitchell- Mitch Evans has his own personal phone number.

-♡-

Considering he paid too much money to stay in the same apartment complex, it's only fair he knows the layout of it. That he knows Alex Lynn, lawyer, with the private Instagram account, is in the apartment the floor below where Mitch's bedroom is.

That after he had flipped the embossed velvet card over in his hands, seen seven digits scrawled. He'd gone to the shower to scrub off what hadn't quite come off in the work showers. Too busy being distracted by Norman's antics and providing behind the scenes Instagram content to properly take care of himself with a more thorough clean. While the penthouse bathroom is nicer, with a separate freestanding bathtub, wide walk-in shower that's practically a wet room. It doesn't have the pokey charm of the old apartment. Sure, his bathroom plants look nice on the floor, leaves dripping with condensation. But he's yet to work out how to make it work for Only Fans. Too much grey area of space.

At least it's a brief distraction from the phone number, dipping fingers in himself just to feel that slight burn of being used again. Contemplating whether he should bring in orchids to complement the Swedish Ivy. There's nothing graceful about cleaning yourself out, Mitch knows his angles well, and know that this half bent over, leg cocked up on the wall is not appealing. Of course, this is when, a knuckle in, he realises that Alex Lynn will have to use the bathtub in the old apartment. The one that's seen all manner of things. From before he'd brought the plants and a 4k camera. His budding career all up in the darkest of places (for free on the hub), in its horrific fluorescent glory. So far removed from the content of now.

Alex won't appreciate that, the illustrious history of the bathroom. To busy probably singing radio-friendly pop, unaware of the onetime Mitch had found Stoffel and Norman curled up in the tub, having snuck away from the orgy to fuck each other at awkward angles. Let him sneak in, lean over the tub, and ejaculate all over the both of them. How the idea to start an OnlyFans account was thought up that night. Once he'd chased everyone else out and pitched ideas to a half snoozing Stoffel tucked under a towel.

When he finally gets out, to thumb through his phone and search for Alex Lynn's Instagram, just out of curiosity. Disappointed to find it private. A tussle with himself as he rubs the towel up his legs, on whether or not he should just drop a request. It already feels stalker-esque just clicking onto the page.

Probably for the best the way WhatsApp group suddenly chiming with notifications. Do Not Disturb having switched off. Drop's into the conversation. Distracted by the flow of his friends.

**the hottest guy moved into my old apartment, total otter. got stuck in the elevator with him, told him I used to live there before I moved up top. Hope he doesn't notice all the stains or the cracked wall at bedpost height...**

It takes him about three messages before he turns do not disturb back on. Suddenly realising that while he loves his friends. 'Shut up Mitch 'Moved up top' you still take it', is not exactly what he needs right now. Not when he thinks this might be a little further than the simple fancying someone.

Orders take out from the fancy restaurant, sits looking out over the skyline. How the sun is setting slowly over the city, casting it in orange hues that fade into inky black interspersed with the white and yellow of streetlamps. He's got enough in him that he could shoot something right now. Probably nothing more than a few simple shots of him looking brooding, maybe a few self-timers of him eating his noodles, dripping with sauce and laden with iconography. Post's a photo to his work Instagram, all shadows in black and white of him looking out over the city, bulge visible tastefully but drawing attention. Adds in the typewriter font because he's feeling classy 'chatting on only fans right now, swipe up'.

Pulls on the monogrammed black kimono Andre had sent him from Tokyo, settles in with the Noodles and opens his MacBook. Tries his best to ignore the tiny square of the card on the table. Unaware of things in the apartment below.

-♡-

It had not spiralled out into a full-blown anxiety moment; Alex has control and a well-paid therapist. But he thinks he's firmly buried all thoughts of the 'lift accident' as he's dubbed it in his mind, to the back of his thoughts for a brief reprieve. Or enough that he doesn't get a semi while changing into his Pyjama Pants. Tying the knot up and ignoring how dismal the bedroom looks even though he's been moved in officially for approximately two hours and knows that he doesn't need to have everything under control and organised immediately.

Small achievements, at least he has a bed set up. Albeit without a frame, delivery delayed for a week for reasons he can't remember, having skim-read the e-mail so preoccupied with the rest of the stress of moving in.

It's almost a victory that he has a sofa with soft cushions. Settles into their cushioned goodness to eat a microwaved meal that already has him missing Marks And Spencer’s finest. Phone chimes with a notification. A happy chirp that seems at dissonance with the sudden war in Alex's head. Mitchell.Blake has just uploaded a story.

He opens his phone without thinking. Clicking on the notification to jump straight to Mitch's story.

Opens his laptop. On the same autopilot that sent him to the notification in the first place. 

Convinces himself it's an action out of curiosity, just to see if Mitch has replied to any of his comments.

Guilt buried down in the grease of his microwaved meal, hidden behind the anonymity of Ace36. Already leaving a tip.

As thanks, Alex tells himself, even though the Mitch through the screen is unaware that Alex is the one dropping him $50 just for coming online.

It's obvious if his suspicions weren't already confirmed by nearly everything else going on around him. That this is the same Mitch.

There's a thrill in it all. In the nature of this transaction. Alex hasn't dared analyse why this is his specific vice. Why he at 20 had fixated so on this 'Mitchell Blake', to the point where he has nearly every single release stored on his hard drive. Buried in zip folders under unrelated names. In a layer of folders. When no one else has access to his MacBook. Then there's the collection of DVDs. With the tacky covers, brought to 'support'. He'd never dared bring it up to his therapist either. Afraid of how they would blow him apart.

Clicks through to one of the folders, recalls being 20 and afraid, sweaty palms as he'd started to fall deeper in infatuation with this image on the screen. The way Mitchell's legs looked, how the man on the screen with the hot Kiwi accent made even the garish fluorescent stockings look good. Fuelled by fond memories, and the touch of Mitch in the flesh. Just a warm graze of an arm in the lift. Is enough to get him to click on one of his favourites. Mitch had never had an awkward phase, not in the way Alex had. It seemed that from the moment Mitch had started in Porn he had been attractive. Getting hotter and hotter every year, as age touched his face and body in the best ways. Filling him out, adding laugh lines and more hair. Alex likes the one's when Mitch is waxed the most.

Tries to ignore the spark of thrill meeting arousal as it surges through him. Settling low in his stomach. Left hand chasing it down the planes of his own body, dancing with the knot he'd tied on the pants only moments earlier. Nothing is happening in the video, it’s self-shot. No one else. Just Mitchell gazing at the camera, stripping slowly, moaning into the silence, his lips red, shiny with spit. Almost like he'd been working them around the dildo that lies discarded on the bed just before hitting record.

Alex has worked himself up to this video multiple times, not enough to wear it out, but enough that he knows what will happen before it does. That doesn't take the thrill out of it.

This was the third video he'd brought.

It was the first one he didn't make it all the way through before orgasm.

He'd barely made it five minutes the first time he'd seen it.

Now he knows every action, he sometimes can make it twenty, but not the full forty.

Today might be a new record.

Lying on the sofa, MacBook shut so fast he might have broken it, covered in his own mess. Shocked by the groan that had spilt from him. Blush red heat that's flushed his chest quickly cooling, just like the warm spunk cooling down almost immediately. Tacky and slimy. Already staining his skin as it dries. It's ungainly, the way he'd pushed his pyjamas down just under his arse for maximum efficiency, so desperate he was to get off to Mitch. By some luck, the new sofa remains unscathed. Alex knows he can't make this a habit. Not with how shameful the clean-up is going to be.

That's when he notices the mark on the wall, about the size of a pint glass, circular. Plastered over and painted a shade too light for the rest of the wall. Roughly the size of a suction cup dildo. The laugh that bubbles from him sounds borderline hysteric, of course, its roughly the size of a suction cup dildo because Alex knows it is from a suction cup dildo. Remembers it fondly. He'd tipped well for that video. Dick twitches almost like it's searching for the comfort of something warm again.

Cleaning up is embarrassing, even in the empty apartment with no one around he feels guilty, at the way he has to open the MacBook up again just to close the video. The thrill of opening it gone with the cold sobriety that is the nature of post-orgasm. Cleans up around the table, the monotony of cleaning his dinner and recycling everything, installed automatically by the ideology of a new apartment and the fresh start that it brings. 

Yet to count it as fortune, the fact that he has not run into Mitch in the lift, or the lobby, since he moved in. Which in all fairness, was a week ago. 

Alex's fears are that the moment Mitch sees him again, the shorter man will have it all worked out. Look past Alex's face and see the guilt written all over him. Suss out the maelstrom in his mind. Know the secrets to Ace36, who spends unspeakable amounts of money to see Mitch do debauched actions in lace white panties brought of wish lists. Who is still spending unspeakable amounts of money on Mitch. Even though every time he sits to watch TV, he's distracted by the mark on the wall next to the screen. The one he knows the identical off, caught on camera in the aptly titled _Jerk off on sofa watching porn_. It's unnerving as the week gets deeper and deeper, weekend looming again. How many marks Alex notices in the apartment around him, how they are all recognisable to exact frames of videos from porn he's spent years consuming. 

Each time he jerks off, swamped by the burning red shame of guilt that spreads into heat sending his body red. The way his dick swells further even as guilt encroaches in, ashamed of just how bad his actions are. Pumping his dick quick and fast, not to the images on the screen but to the thought of the way he's mirroring even so crudely, Mitch's actions. 

Finds himself ignoring the expansive collection of professionally studio shot footage he owns of Mitchell Blake, to instead delve into the archive of self-shot footage. Makes it to Thursday before his dick feels raw and chafed. Tells himself it's because work is stressful, that this whole period of time with the move in and all is stressful. But really, it's because he's constantly tripping up on the differences between his and Mitch's cock. How that DVD collection didn't lie when it said, _Fat Fucking Cocks._

And then something further than the fear settles in. This idea that he can't match up. He's fit. Had to be, for a different life. So far removed from the days of racetracks yet never losing the habit of exercise. Even if he can't cycle anymore to and from work, the gym is almost like a second home. But it sits odd on his body, not attractive in the way it does on Mitch. Small and compact muscles compared to his elongated yet defined body. He'd discussed it with his therapist enough, this idea that he maybe didn't match up to other men. That he was only clinging to the gym like he was still going to live out his dreams again. Not be a lawyer. To have his name remembered, etched on trophies. 

His Therapist had laughed, kindly. And Alex had breathed out, focusing on the way looking good made him feel. That it was his own body to exist in. The gym made him feel good. 

But now, as he rubs his hand slowly up to the tip of his cock, just to smooth it back down the shaft again. An almost cursory stroke to get bearings more than anything else. He wonders how well he and Mitch would intertwine. If the length of his cock would be right for Mitch. The Mitch on screen that he's favoured recently only ever uses Dildos. Alex too afraid that if he watches Mitch being fucked or fucking properly, he will imagine he's the other person. 

His heads already too much in the trap of its own perverted prison to truly commit to that route. 

When he orgasms, not quite in time with the Mitch on screen. It's practically dry. A whimper of semen trickling out onto his thigh. Pathetic really. 

Makes the vow to not jerk off again to Mitch. 

Knows he won't keep it. 

-♡-

'Fuck Candy Crush'

It's said more to himself than anyone around. Not that there is anyone around, apart from Nicki at reception. The elevator is as normal taking forever. And he is as normal, stuck on a level of candy crush.

Mitch will be the first to admit he's in a mood today. Letting tiny things pile on top of one another. 

First it had been the way the cafe had fucked up his order. Not anyone’s fault really, the server new, betrayed by awkward smiles and their shaking hands. Mitch was a barista once, a long time ago. It's stressful enough. Seems silly for him to get outraged at the lack of cinnamon on top of his cappuccino. So, he hadn't. But it had tipped him over, mood going further south on arrival to location. The set too sketchy for his liking, the colleagues he'd been promised where there, weren't. Knowing that the 'do not' list was not going to be followed.

Lucky, he has enough sway, that he could walk away with little repercussions. Knows sometimes others can't afford that luxury.

It's still a dent to the bank account though. A shoot lost. Money spent on a test, now having to be redirected to another OnlyFans self-shoot. Tempted to ask if either Stoffel or Norman are free, if just for one of them to be an anonymous cock for Mitch to ride on so he's not once again posting dildo fucks. Aware that the content needs to be fresh so as to not lose viewers. That need to constantly be producing, to keep atop this empire. Cogs of business never ending, just plastered in a rainbow flag instead of in grey.

The only good thing is the chime of the notification from Only Fans. Messages from subscribers. As usual, a comment Ace36 is tucked away in there. Mitch knows he shouldn't have favourites. Not with people who are sick and twisted enough to spend hundreds of dollars on his dirty videos hidden behind anonymity. But Ace36 is so generous with their tips. Today it's just a comment, A hint for Mitch to update his Wishlist with more lingerie sets. The thought alone is enough to distract him from his Candy Crush rage. 

'Hello'

Mitch almost jumps out of his skin. Turns the phone screen of and slides it into his pocket as smoothly as possible as he turns on his heel. It's Alex, in a much more appealing outfit. Gone are the beiges, instead replaced by a pair of cycling leggings and appropriate Lycra.

'Fancy seeing you again, by the elevator. No boxes today' 

He feels like an idiot for not texting or calling Alex. 

He'd just been caught up on the idea that Alex might know what he was doing in the Apartment Alex now calls home. Then caught up in organising shoots. Plus, the guilt from Wednesday evening, when he'd sunk down on a long dildo, heard the camera beep for dying battery and almost immediately came, imagining it as Alex's dick inside him. How he'd thought about scrapping the shot but instead uploaded it for twice his normal price. 

Alex has a deep flush high on his cheekbones, obviously from exercise. It's stupidly attractive. Mitch should have called. Especially when Alex starts talking, minutiae details about the everyday. How the move in has been. 

He's easy to talk to, and Mitch knows they both come from careers that rely heavily on the ability to schmooze. 

But it seems genuine. There's no itch to check his phone in the way some social interactions leave him, the rest of Ace36's comment pushed far back in his mind. 

Instead he just wants to talk to Alex. For some stupid reason, he then drops into the conversation.

'Oh, we should go to the gym together some time'

Mitch isn't even sure of the tone he says it in himself, whether it comes off stupidly straight. All jock-esque. 'We should go lift weights together bro'. Or gives him away as not straight. Alex probably think's this shirt has holes in from wear, and not that Mitch paid into the hundreds for it already torn. Then there's the worries that Alex will get the impression that all Mitch wants is to suck his dick somewhere in between weightlifting and the locker room. Which is a thing Mitch would like to do. But tragically, he wants it after they've wined dined and sixty nined Gone through a layer of romance before Mitch gets to his knees in a grotty shower stall.

Alex agrees, and then the flush on his face seems to change. More mottled. If he's ashamed or thinking oddly of Mitch's words he doesn't betray this in his reply.

'That would be great actually Mitch. You should text me back, or give me your number at least'

Mitch pulls his phone out, hopes that it's angled just right that Alex won't see the screen he may or may not have failed to close before locking it. 

Opens very quickly to his messages. And fires off the 'Hey, it's Mitch. From the elevator x' that had been sitting in wait, unsent because of overanalysing. Maybe the one kiss at the end of the text was too far. 

Yet Alex doesn't quirk an eye at the message when he glances at his watch. Smiles a coy smile.

'This is uh, my floor again. Uh. Bye Mitch. See you around' 

'Bye Alex, have a nice afternoon'. The doors slide shut. Abruptly, like Alex had never been in the elevator at all.

They have to stop meeting like this, it's bad for his health. Hits the button for the penthouse with a bit too much force, opens his phone again and clicks on the full comment from Ace36. 

A new one comes through as he steps into the penthouse. 

'Ace36 has sent you an item of your wish list'

Which is odd, he hasn't even updated his wish list as requested. Hadn't even finished reading Ace36's comment.

-♡-

Alex watches his palms shake as he opens his OnlyFans app, clicks on Mitch's wish list. At the cotton t-shirts that are there. Hidden away in between sex toys and bondage gear. 

It's just Mitch's shirt had a few holes in it. Stretched over the collar. And sure, Alex knows Mitch mustn’t be starving for money, he lives’ in the penthouse for Pete's sake. Could afford some new T-Shirts. But he just wants Mitch to have nice things. 

Part of him, want's Mitch to connect the dots. To realise this hint. Excuse him from the awkward conversation Alex knows he needs to have. Then Alex can find another apartment and they can forget about this entire mess.

A funny story to tell his friends when their drunk. Sam will find it hysterical, would gleefully remind him of the whole Virgin shoot debacle and then buy them even more shots even though they both know how shot their tolerances are. Then in the morning while he's curled up in Sam's guest room with the shorter man taking up half the space, he'll accept Holly's tutting from the door and Sam's sleepy apologies for mocking his very serious pain. 

Mitch is wearing one of the cotton shirts next time Alex sees him, which is when Alex is leaving the building and Mitch brushes past him. Smiles big and wide with a 'Good morning Alex' and disappears into the lobby. 

-♡-

Thing's calm for a bit, if constantly running into one another is what Mitch would call calm. He's trying not to be obvious with his attraction to Alex. Hasn't really determine anything about the man and at this point in life he should know better than to judge a book by its cover. Plus, they keep messaging. Simple back and forth that have ramped up into genuine conversation between one another. Alex had accepted his Instagram request, after Mitch had made sure he was on his private account. Stoffel won't stop taking the piss. And all of a sudden Mitch finds himself hot gossip on the scene. 

Adam's balls deep in him when the director calls cut. Moving around cameramen to get a better angle, practically blinding him with the bright LED ring light. There’s blond hair flopping over Mitch's face, Adam's voice low with a 'heard you got yourself a crush on a straight boy'. Which makes Mitch laugh because Adam's a friend of old, and they both know he will be going back to his wife tonight. 

'Who told you?', Mitch has to move his ass up just a little, but he really doesn't want Adam to slip out because this is a good position. 

Adam helps him shuffle a little, keeping them attached, still able to murmur. 'Stoffel, you know, he's a little gossip.' Which while probably true is impressive since Adam isn't really part of their group and hasn't been in a long time. 'Plus, he posted it on Instagram last night'. The director loves the way Mitch clenches up at that. So does Adam judging by the dirty look Mitch gets. 

Of course, as he's leaving the rented house, he finally has time to check Stoffel's stories. Watching him at the bar last night rapidly tapping away on his phone. Captioned 'lost another one to the straights'. Then followed with a text post that's Stoffel apologising for using such outdated terms. Mitch laughs. So very Stoffel to do that. He doesn't really mind. The crush will abate and it's not like he's in love with Alex or anything. Yet when he gets back to the apartment. There Alex is in the hallway, seemingly kissing a man half his height on the cheeks. The man is also very hot, in a rugged way. Shorter than Mitch which is saying something. As he walks past Mitch see's that the man has the most gorgeous blue eyes. The sort he dreamt about reading smutty pulp fiction he'd picked up in dollar stores as a young teen. 

'Alright Mate', blue eyes says as he walks past. 

Alex didn't see Mitch, for once the universe has decided that the elevators will be on time. Alex has obviously already made it back to his apartment. Leaving Mitch reeling by the doors. Of course, the first thing he does is open the group chat. 

** What if straight otter wasn't straight? **

The message back comes in fast. Norman instead of Stoffel which is a relief. He'll get French gay bastard instead of Belgium gay bastard. More bitchy judgement but said with passion. 

** Comment ca?  **

Reassuring sarcastic French, Mitch has the most supportive friends. He's halfway through tapping back a reply about what's just transpired in the hallway when the elevator doors slide open and there’s Alex, trying to hide a bottle of lube in his sleeve while talking on the phone with the other hand all 'Sam yeah look you forgot it, no problem oh shit- Mitch' 

Mitch is convinced he lives in a sitcom. Resists the urge to look for the invisible camera. Alex has turned bright red. There's a glob of lube on his pressed shirt. Seeping into the fabric in a way Mitch knows from experience will be a pain to clean off. 

They say that porn isn't acting, but Mitch is pretty sure the smile he plasters on is Emmy award winning at least with its convincing-ness. His stomach doesn't swoop when Alex sweeps by, nor when he opens the thread to Alex, glazing over the borderline flirty texts they were sending last night. Send’s the three monkeys, see hear and speak no evil. Hope's Alex will get the gist. 

The elevator ride up to the penthouse is crap. Mitch would have been convinced that he was impenetrable to feeling like this over someone. But it's not really something he's experienced before. He just hope's Alex will be cool with him. That they can continue being friends. Which is a foolish sentence really, why Alex would think Mitch doesn’t want to be friends with him over a bottle of lube. oh, what a tangled web we weave. He's so melodramatic. They'd give him another Emmy for the way he's leaning against the elevator wall like some sad indie boy. The Holden McNeil for the modern age. Except hotter than Ben Affleck could ever dream to be. Ben Affleck thoughts are safe. 

Files away the ache that shouldn't be under layers of bad back tattoos and going back to text Norman. Who’s handily replied 'que sera, sera'. 

-♡-

Sam doesn't even have the gall to look sheepish on the street when Alex finally catches up to him, instead accepts the lube with a cheeky smile that at any other time Alex would enjoy. 

It takes a lot of him to bite back a quip about how he hopes Sam enjoys the sex. 

Race car drivers with their hot wives able to fuck other hot race car drivers. 

Alex doesn't miss it. He certainly wasn't getting any the entire time, apart from awkward necking with Pierre way back. He'd always been too ungainly looking, unable to play hot. Especially in between all the studying. It was only post racing when he'd been able to hone crafts with nameless figures, he can barely remember apart from their touch and the skills they used on to him. Part of the entire reason Sam was coming to him in the first place. 

No wonder law had won out in the end over karting. Distinctly remembers Sam telling him a story, in that first few weeks at Virgin. How Sam's teacher had told him to concentrate on the thing he love the most. And now Sam is a champion. And Alex, Alex was the hotshot rookie, putting it on pole but never converting it through races. A statistic retired 'too young' It's not a bad thing. There's no resentment. Especially not directed at Sam who still let's him play 'racing boy' and fit in with the set. Just now he's sworn not to tell anyone about how Sam and Jev are getting it on behind the scenes. 

Someone jostles him out of his introspection, pulled back into the crowd as he continues back to the apartment. 

Not to be faced by the memories of what could have been, but by the feeling he can't quite describe. The notion that Mitch might think he's sleeping with someone else. When all Alex really wants is to be with Mitch. 

Kick in the teeth really, the way he doesn't run into Mitch at all. No spotting him in coffee shops where Alex is bleary at the time and Mitch looks perfect. Their text reduced to simple pleasantries before dropping off to nothing at all. 

Yet Alex is still consumed by thoughts of Mitch. Probably not aided by the fact that Mitch is everywhere in this apartment. Traces of stains on the walls. Even though his furniture’s set up different, every space reminds him of a scene. An almost pavlovian reaction that has him willing down a boner while wiping the kitchen counters, knowing he's seen Mitch be hoisted up and fucked over them by a man with horrible floppy hair and fuckboy-esque tattoos. How his knuckles go white as he grips the kitchen counter. Seeing behind the lids of his eyes the way fuckboy had kissed into Mitch's mouth, all frantic and with mumbled 'na's. 

Hadn't even had the chance to come clean to Mitch with the truth. 

-♡-

Mitch isn't avoiding Alex. On purpose. He’s just become very good at not running into Alex. So good even André's messaging at Tokyo hours to remind him to leave the apartment. It's nice to be cared for. And he's not sulking. Even though this very much feels like a sulk.

Reduced himself to making his own content. A week, he tells himself. Impossible to go on forever avoiding Alex. But leaving the penthouse at odd hours, the sorts that don't align with a Nine To Five lifestyle. 

It works.

Until it doesn't.

Mitch gets good at hiding behind the leafy greens in the hallway. One useful thing about his height. 

Nicki at reception gets all too used to his personal problems. 

He's sat on her desk, halfway explaining how disastrous his life is, when he clocks Alex walking past. 

Alex doesn't notice him. Too embroiled in talking on his phone. 

Mitch clenches at the words 'Sam'. 

Alex owes him nothing. 

Unrequited crushes suck. 

Nicki smiles, the sunlight glints of her gold jewellery. Mitch can practically see his own reflection in the shine. Forms a plan, kisses her cheeks, and slips of the desk. Up to the penthouse. Idea rolling around. 

Takes a little bit of orchestration to get just right. There's a rule of thumb, Mitch in general likes to keep. Never film on his own bed. Just to keep those lines drawn. He has a nice guest room anyways. Set up for filming. 

The camera is almost foreign in his room. As if it breached a wall. Here past the gates. In Mitch's inner sanctum. To capture him jerking of slowly in amongst his sheets. The monogrammed kimono delicately dropping from his body. He'd selected his favourite ambient rain sounds, the kind that hit car rooftops. And some old terrible film he owned way back from when he got into porn. Two guys with clipped posh British accents going at each other. Turned down just enough that it's audible for him and barely discernible to the camera. As if it's sound leaking in from another room. As if he's a voyeur. Taking care of his needs, listening to someone else fuck. 

There's something off about editing yourself, desensitized to the rhythmic writhing of bodies. 

Mitch think's it’s the hottest he's ever looked. Especially when the camera unfocused as he turns over, kimono discarded. Slipping off the bed like his left hand searching for purchase as his right grasps his arse cheek, just to show the camera the end of the jewelled butt plug that's buried inside him. It refocuses as his hand moves the toy in and out. 

He's still recovering from the orgasm as he edits, weary legs and shaking hands. Glad that without a boom mic the camera never picks up the name that falls from his lips as he cums. 

Uploads it for a premium price. Twice his normal amount. 

_ Jerking of to my neighbour having sex _

Ace36 is the first to buy it. 

-♡-

Alex regrets setting a specific notification for MitchellBlake. That he hasn't changed it. That he set Mitch's notification to the same sound. The biggest regret is that he didn't turn his phone on to silent before sitting down for an office dinner with the bosses. 

Jérôme quirks an eyebrow across the table. Probably at the way Alex's face has gone dark red. Or the way he stilled with his knife and fork. Jérôme doesn't say anything though, not when Alex excuses himself from the table. In fact, Jérôme starts talking about his Wedding, an anecdote that Alex never catches the end off. It's enough to impress the rest of the office. Nothing less Alex guesses, from a guy married to basically royalty. He'll thank Jérôme later.

The bathroom is the marble sort, the one that says you need money to even think about taking a leak in the near vicinity of this countertop. 

Considering how he's just snuck away; Alex is impressed he looks alright in the mirror. 

In the stall though, his stomach swoops as he opens the notification. Buys the film without even looking at the title, or the cost. Which he ignores as it comes through on his Apple Watch. Too busy sneaking his air pods from his pocket to listen to the video. 

It buffers on the 4G. Which is when he finally clocks what it's called. 

Any sexual tension his stomach abates. The boner threatening to undo his zip doesn't go down, but he lacks the sudden urge to get off. 

It plays, he can hear the British accents of two men fucking faintly, just audible over Mitch's moans. Slides through to a further point in the video. It's almost cheesily romantic. Mitch is handsome on the bed; a bed Alex has never seen before. Tanned skin _everywhere._

And the title, ringing around in his head. He can almost hear the way Mitch would say it. 

_ Jerking off to my neighbour having sex _

The accent gets stronger. _‘Oh yeah baby, just like that huh love_ ' 

He can hear the Essex in it, the sounds of home. 

Alex slumps against the stall side. 

He's the Neighbour. 

In a roundabout fashion. 

But he's still the Neighbour. 

Makes it back to the dinner. Sits down because he's the new kid, leaving now would be a bad reflection. Laughs through the 'Oh Alex tell us about what it's like Over the Pond'. 

Jérôme looks at him with those piercing eyes, blue softer than Sam's, kinder in a different way, but they still remind Alex of his friend. 

'Relationship troubles huh?', Jérôme's voice is soft. Would be a murmur if it weren’t how the man usually spoke. 

'Something like that', he replies.

Chases the words down with an almost unhealthy chug of Red Wine. 

-♡-

Mitch hates the way his friends conspire. 

Especially because he so desperately wants new plants. And sure, he's strong but not enough to carry the weight of greenery he will surely buy at the garden centre up and through his apartment. Yet all of his friends are mysteriously busy. 

So, he texts Alex. 

He just really wants the plants, he tells himself. His contact list is dwindling and while he think's André would fly across the world for him, it would probably not be to go looking at hanging ivy for his bathroom. 

Spends half the afternoon just trying to format a message, in between calling Stoffel, and begging him to come instead. No part of Mitch buys that his friend and Norman are off for a spa retreat. 

'Hey mate, long time no talk but wondering if you could help me pick up some plants from the garden centre this weekend' Is what he finally settles on. 

Alex doesn't message back for a few anxiety ridden hours. ‘Sorry, long meeting. Lawyer stuff. This weekend. Mega, see you at??'

Suddenly it's like the dam's been broken between them. A trickle of conversation anew that by Thursday it's almost like they had never stopped talking at all. Mitch should not be fond of how many Mega's Alex seems to sneak into sentences. Or perplexed by the quirked eyebrows Norman throws him over their weekly Friday group breakfast. Mitch is smugly pleased at the tiny orange spatters he flicks on Stoffel's white shirt when the man laughs 'Surprised you didn't invite him to breakfast Mitch. That's when we know it's serious. Remember Tom'

The make it easy to be faux hated upon. Two smiling faces giggling away old memories while Mitch feels like he's once again explaining that him and Alex are not dating. 'We're just friends' feels so tired. A line that years ago Norman and Stoffel had repeated to him over and over, before confessing they were dating but stressing it was nothing too serious. He looks at his friends across the table, the way the years have grown on them, defined by gym sessions, and losing any traces of puberty. They make for a good-looking couple. Stoffel's handsome Prince Charming-looks paired with the rugged roguishness of Norman. 

They kiss each other on the cheeks as a goodbye. Making sure he doesn't sound pissed off when he air quotes 'Enjoy your spa retreat'.

And then he gets stopped by a fan on the walk back to his building. It's not out of the normal, there's a prolific-ness to what he does. Just still, people are more reticent to purposefully walk across the street to ask for one of the biggest gay Porn Stars autograph. Mitch for a second, worries. The streets a little more isolated than he'd like, even with the midday sun beating down and the steady hum of traffic. 

But the fan is nice, if a little awkward. Shakes hands and seems content with Mitch's autograph and a selfie.

Runs through his head the rest of the walk back, who the fan was, Sean he'd given his name as. But Mitch wonders _who_ this man is, what username he's behind. If he's Ace36 or some other odd combination of letters and numbers that make up his followers. 

How quick, Ace36 had brought _Jerking of to my neighbour having sex_ , even at double the price. Would Sean on the street with the awkward handshake have that confidence hidden behind the screen. Mitch knows he should stop focusing on the names. Not be lulled into the fondness he has for Ace36, go back to just enjoying the way these usernames commodify him. And if they want to buy his footage within five minutes of it being uploaded. With no promo done yet, then they can and should. 

It buys him a pretty slice of life. 

He's on a high with work life, feels a little hopeful that if this weekend goes well, he can get personal life sorted out as well. 

And the fears of running into Alex in the lobby or the elevator have gone, replaced instead by a sadness that he didn't run into the other man. Even though a minute ago Alex had sent a picture of him, sunglasses on and a reusable cup in hand. Accompanying message 'It's this easy being green?'. 

No wonder Stoffel and Norman are taking the piss out of him over Alex. With the way he's smiling over one picture, all the way up to the Penthouse. 

-♡-

It's a muted palette, his wardrobe to say the least. Alex will be the first to cop to that. Practically the only splash of colour is from his race suits. Snuck away at the back with their dark blue hues and racing greens. Curated as a facsimile of what Alex presumes an 'office' wardrobe should look like. He shouldn't really be overthinking an outfit to wear to the garden centre. But he can't find any jeans, and joggers or chinos aren't really going to impress Mitch.

Mitch who won't know that the jeans Alex settles on are three days old and already worn twice. The dirt from the plants will hopefully cover any unfortunate food stains. At least his shoes are somewhat cooler. A pair of chunky white sneakers matched with a white shirt. Which will probably get dirt on it as well. Wears an old Aston Martin cap for the sake of it. Feels good that he looks good.

And Alex tells himself that this isn't a date. It's just two friends picking plants out in a garden centre.

Mitch as always looks good. Ripped jean shorts with a grey sweater, backwards cap, and charming smile.

There's an awkward moment as they meet in the lobby in which Alex is unsure if they are about to lean in for a hug or a handshake. It ends up as an awkward fist bump slash hug that he overthinks half the way to the garden centre.

But the conversation is good, he'd known how much he had missed it all the time that they hadn’t spoken. And when they had finally started speaking again. But it's felt like a long time since Alex has truly been able to hold a conversation so naturally with someone. With no pretence of a world, no business talk of clients and cases, no talk peppered with timings and speed on the apex. Just Mitch, saying 'Nice hat, though I’m more of a Jaguar fan myself' before launching into a breakdown of what plant's he wants to pick up. Which is a hefty amount considering neither of them have a car.

It's pleasant, walking around the garden centre. Alex has never really got the whole plant deal. But suddenly sees the appeal at the way Mitch light up at the thought of possibly growing tomatoes. How every time Mitch finds an intriguing plant lifts it up smell it, and make sure Alex leans in to smell it too. Watching Mitch dip his hands through mint plants, gently tearing of a leaf and crumbling it between his fingers. How content and at ease Mitch looks. There's a part of Alex that knows all these plants will be seen on backgrounds of film's he will buy. How he will ever cope knowing the tray of succulents he's just lifted into the trolley will probably be caught on camera.

He loses Mitch for a bit, the other man caught up in a conversation with an employee over how reasonable it might be to grow tomatoes inside.

Alex gets a little lost in amongst the leafage. Leaving the trolley behind. Stops eventually, at a row of flowers he knows he should remember the name off. All lined up, in a whole host of gorgeous colours, flecked with purples, pinks and splashes of blue. Blooms that look both hardy and delicate at the same time. He wonders why he's never seen one at Mitch's, they look exactly like the sort of plant Mitch would like. Eyes drawn to one with dark almost midnight blue petals, splayed with electric blue veins. He reaches out for it almost automatically. Turning the pot around in a search for the label.

'I hate Orchids.’ Alex jumps at Mitch's voice. Nearly nudges one of the petals. 'I always seem to kill them'

Mitch hip checks him, a gentle bump. 'You can try though; you might have softer hands.'

Alex would deny the way he cradles the orchid to place it gently in the trolley.

They get side-tracked from the tills when Mitch clocks a giant plant pot with what looks to be essentially a miniature tree inside. Maroon glaze of the pot chipped and cracked. The trunk of the tree unattractive, knotted and gnarled. Mitch seems to love it, in the way Alex has fallen for the Orchid.

Takes both of them to carry it over to the tills. He orders an Uber while Mitch pays, aware that neither of them will be able to carry all these plants back to the apartment. By the time they step back out onto the parking lot its nearing late afternoon. Sun slowly trailing down the sky.

Alex looks over at Mitch, who's smiling as he takes photos of the leafage on the trolley.

'Alright Lex long arms, take a picture, will you?'

Alex smiles, at Lex as much as the ribbing.

Angles it up so it gets both them and the trolley in. Mitch's tree with its tangled roots and broken pot. His orchid with the electric blue colouring. Mitch pulls Alex in closer, arm wrapped around his side. A habit that Alex is so used to from even the few hours he's spent properly in Mitch's presence. Constant contact, Alex has endured hours of warm hands on wrists as Mitch points to a plant in excitement. Or the way Mitch hooked his head over Alex's shoulder as they'd walked down an aisle of hydrangeas, how Mitch had ducked away after mere seconds to avoid a puddle on the ground from where the plants had just been watered. How each fluffy leaf had been dripping water down and it would have been a memory to store away forever if he weren't so distracted by the shake of Mitch's ass as he walked on through the flowers.

Mitch steps away, looks at the picture on the phone and smiles.

All he can think of is the way Mitch had looked, bent over to inspect lupins. That same smile on his face.

And as he sits in the back of the uber, with Mitch pressed up against him so the big ugly tree can have its own seat, surrounded by way too many flowers. Alex think's he really likes Mitch's smile. It's one that he's never seen before. Not plastered on like the ones in the videos, or like the introductory smile from the lift. A proper smile. True.

It's all going well until they are standing in the lobby, wondering how to get all the plants up to the Penthouse.

He’s become way too attached to his orchid, that even when Mitch places it on the receptionist desk and she jokes ‘oh for me’, he feels offended. They push the maroon pot behind the desk as well.

The receptionist comes around and holds the lift button open for them. Until the lift is loaded with all the greenery.

Alex pretends not to notice the way she winks at Mitch as he says ‘Thanks Nicki’

‘You’re such a charmer, with all the ladies’

Mitch laughs, a slightly awkward one.

‘Years of perfecting the ‘Gay best friend’ stereotype. Actually, I shouldn’t say that. It’s Nicki, ear on the ground you know. We once went on this amazing hot air balloon trip.’

He forgets to hear the rest of what Mitch tells him, something about sunset and how great the photos had looked. It’s just, the ease at which Mitch tells him he’s gay. Alex knows this, he should come clean in this tiny space as they stop at floor four. Probably not wise to admit ‘Oh I’m a massive fan of your pornographic career’ in such a tiny space though, in case anything goes wrong. But also, the way Mitch had admitted this, in such a manner Alex has never afforded his own self. Stuck in between the ingrained homophobia of the racing world, with only Sam as a confident, and the ingrained homophobia of the lawyer world. Still bogged down in things that feel so outdated.

The doors open, and the person trying to get on backs away with a laugh.

‘Sorry Hazel, you know how it is’ 

‘Sure Mitch, I _know_ how it is’

The doors slide closed again,

‘Do you know the entire building?’

Mitch laughs again, not the same one as before. More fun. He gets caught up in the laugh as well. Just the two of them traveling all the way up to the top floor, giggling for no reason like children at the weirdness of the day.

They operate a smart system. Alex handing Mitch the flowers to tuck into his hallway. It takes five minutes of slightly frantic plant pot passing and pressing the hold button on the door before they are heading back down to rescue the tree.

‘See, they were safe with me’, Nicki laughs as they make it to the desk.

Alex figures he should actually introduce himself properly to Nicki. Outstretches his hand.

Mitch disappears for a moment, while Alex is caught up talking to Nicki, it’s just she has really good taste in sneakers and there suddenly sharing photo collections. Alex barely notices the fact that Mitch has taken the orchid away.

‘You ready Lex?’, Mitch’s voice makes them both jump.

Nicki apologises and resumes holding the door of the lift.

It’s an awkward pot to lift, requires both of them to do safely. But with all the cracks in the rim it’s hard to find stable purchase. Nicki’s laugh soundtracks there grunting as they awkwardly manoeuvre it across the hallway. It had been easy getting it in and out of the taxi into the lobby. This distance to the penthouse is a pain.

There’s half a second, where Alex loses purchase on the rim and catches it just before it drops on Mitch’s foot.

He’s not so lucky a few moments later when they make it into the penthouse. He’s trying not to be distracted in the fact he’s in Mitch’s new apartment. How they seem to be heading towards what he presumes will be either the bathroom or the bedroom.

And then Mitch somehow stumbles upon something, losing grip on the rim of the pot. Dropping it straight onto Alex’s toe.

-♡-

Stoffel and Norman will never let him hear the end of this if they find out.

_If they find out._

Alex is on the couch, with his foot wrapped up in a layer of wet tea towels.

Because he dropped a giant plant pot on Alex’s foot.

Alex had taken his jeans of in a moment of frustration as the cuffs got wet from the tea towel.

He’s in black Calvin Klein’s.

Sat in the spot Mitch had jerked off in last night. For camera of course. 

Mitch is just glad he’s a professional and orgasmed on his body and not the couch.

He’d been lounging in a near mirror of the position Alex is in right now, had scooped up his cum with fingers and sucked it off each digit because a fan had donated for that exact action.

Alex’s legs take up most of the space on the couch, and Mitch find’s he can’t look away as he squeezes into the remaining gap. He’d played nurse as Alex had groaned, taking his shoe off. And Mitch has never been into foot stuff, it’s on his no list. But he’d reconsider it for Alex. Which is a sure sign of this crush settling into something too deep.

For some reason, as he’d frantically wrapped Alex’s foot in the cold wet tea towels and said ‘It’s been a while since I’ve played nurse’, he could have sworn Alex had replied ‘I know’ but had chalked it down to some odd groan of pain. He thought about the Nurses outfit hung up in his spare wardrobe, how good the Latex makes his body look. If Alex would want him to play nurse proper.

Now there halfway through a discussion about the benefits of waxing legs, while Alex shuffles occasionally and moans a little in pain.

Mitch is regretting changing into his joggers, frankly, he’s regretting a lot of things.

Mostly dropping the plant onto Alex’s foot. None of him regrets the way Alex’s other uninjured foot is touching his thigh, sort of rubbing mindlessly. The accursed plant pot is in the corner, most of it had survived the half metre fall onto Alex’s toe, save a small already chipped section that had fallen off.

‘I think it’s just about the aerodynamics of cycling, and I got so used to it when I raced that I never stopped’ Alex is telling him while Mitch fights the urge to run a hand up the smooth calf, just to see how well the waxing is done.

‘You raced bikes?’

Alex laughs, a slightly hollow sounding thing.

‘Cars, I raced cars’

The way Alex sounds makes Mitch want to turn in the seat, to face Alex properly.

So, he does. Has to put his hand down to get leverage to turn, brushes against Alex’s leg. He doesn’t move it.

‘And you’re a lawyer now?’

‘It’s no problem really. I wanted to be a lawyer and I wanted to be a race car driver. I did both in the end’

Mitch doesn’t know much about racing. Knows nice cars and the beauty in them. But actual motor racing had never seemed desirable to watch. No New Zealand heroes to watch race. So, he just hadn’t.

‘Got pretty high up in the Formula’s, raced in the electric series for a season. But it just didn’t work out’

Mitch runs his hand up Alex’s calf. The skin warm. Alex doesn’t stop speaking.

‘Is this okay Lex?’

Alex turns red. Murmurs an ‘Okay’

‘Explains the trophies, I really thought you were best lawyer of the year, which can’t be true’

It brings a laugh bubbling from Alex. A look levelled at Mitch that’s disappointment in a banter way. He shuffles his uninjured foot into Mitch’s lap properly allowing for Mitch to run his hand up and down, a mindless action at this point.

‘When you find the lawsuit for my broken toe through your mailbox this week. Then you’ll know I am the best lawyer in town. Shove up, let me get my wounded foot up and secure’

Mitch really regrets the joggers, with Alex’s feet rubbing up against his thigh. The wet from the tea towel seeping through the grey fabric.

It’s not the close contact that’s the arousing thing, it’s the fact it’s Alex. In a white t-shirt and black Calvin Klein’s, who’d carefully folded his jeans up to place them on the side while hobbling on one foot. Who in between the serious curse words and yelling had stressed ‘not your fault’, even though it clearly was Mitch’s fault. Alex who had winced when Mitch had wrapped the cold press around his toes, already blooming black and blue with bruises.

‘You play nurse well’

‘Told you, I’ve played Nurse before’

The blush comes back, high on Alex’s cheeks, staining them a pretty red.

Struck by the thought of what sort of flush Alex would go when he’s all post-coitus, spent and spread out underneath Mitch, or perhaps on top. Pushes the thoughts aside because he needs to keep boundaries.

‘Do you-’ Alex start, stops just as sudden.

‘Do I what? Still play nurse? Sure, I think I’m doing a pretty good job, why, do you have complaints?’

There’s a beat, just a pause, unnoticeable except for the fact Mitch has spent most of his day with Alex, used to the cadence of his words.

‘Do you still want the plant there’

It’s not what Alex was originally going to say and it’s obvious. All of a sudden Mitch feels the way he did when they weren’t talking. The questions running to his head of “Won’t your boyfriend mind? that you’re here instead of with him? Rubbing your foot along some other man’s joggers”

Instead of fixating on the unknown or asking silly questions. He does something he knows he’s good at. Photographs it.

The plant does look good where it ended up, and Alex seems to agree, Stoffel and Norman take a few more minutes to get back to his message. Though it probably didn’t help that he’d sent the picture with ‘Please rate the plant position, Lex has his feet in my lap, and it turns out he used to be a racing driver’ followed up by an eggplant emoji.

Mitch will bet money that the reply he gets is a co-authored effort.

‘Ooo la la, Mitchell, ask him if he tops. 🐓 10/10 on the leafage position. Perfect to hide a camera behind.’

He knows it’s not meant in the ‘secretly film Alex’ sort of way, more in the ‘great place to make a voyeuristic camera shot’.

‘Stof and Norman say it’s good, ten out of ten’

Alex nudges his uninjured foot under Mitch’s hand. Smiles.

They end up ordering pizza, he spends the time waiting for the intercom to ring telling Alex about Stoffel and Norman.

Glossing over the odd part of their life, semi-afraid of Alex’s reaction if he comes out and admits ‘I’m a porn star’, because that’s been enough to have people break things off with him. Can still almost hear André’s voice say, ‘Fuck Tom, he was never worth it Mitch’. Or how to admit that his best friends are Porn Stars too. Most people are not freaked out by that, but more by the how they stay together as a couple. Mitch thinks Alex might understand, then restricts himself thinking about British Prudeness.

When the Intercom does finally go off, sneaking out from underneath Alex’s legs. He finds he misses the weight of Alex but judging from the look the other man throws at him, Alex misses the contact too.

It’s wild really. Enclosed in the elevator that seems to be the entire crux of this friendship, how he can’t get Alex of his mind. Watching the floors slowly tick down to G. Consumed with thoughts of the sprawl of Alex’s long limbs on the couch, all easy smiles, looking at everything Mitch say’s like he cares for the words. Alex hadn’t complained once about how touch feely Mitch knows he gets. It’s been a long time since he’s gone through a public space with someone. Unaware of how to act. Alex hadn’t said anything when he’d leaned up to hook his head over Alex’s shoulders. The way the puddle on the floor had been an easy excuse for him to back out of the contact, suddenly afraid of what it meant.

Ground floor chirps its happy ding, the doors slide open and Mitch stops the freak out.

The night guard has obviously disappeared, but the Pizza’s are on Nicki’s desk. On top is a post it note with a cheery ‘Hi Mitch, got the pizza’s in. They were out of Pepsi; promise I didn’t steal it – V’

Mitch is a little sceptical that Vernon hasn’t stolen the Pepsi. He won’t call the mans bluff.

Of course, the ride back up is slower. The pizza is still pretty hot, enough that he has to put the boxes down on the floor. Which also gives an excuse to panic text the Group Chat.

‘Think I will tell Alex tonight. I really like him’

There’s a flood of emoji reactions and good lucks.

It’s really not that he’s afraid to tell people, normally he’s so forthcoming with the information.

Feels like if he doesn’t admit, then he’s keeping it a secret, like it’s something to be ashamed off.

He’s good at what he does, he tells himself like it’s a mantra. On the third cycle of repeating the wise words, is probably not the best time for it to sink in that he’s left an assorted array of sex toys in the bathroom sink. The mantra very quickly changes into “hope Alex hasn’t needed to pee”.

-♡-

Maybe, Alex rationalises. That taking a plant pot to the toe. Which hurt a lot, like will have to get a toenail removed hurt a lot. Was sort of worth it. He’ll blame the acute pain for the fact he very nearly asked Mitch if he still had the Latex Nurses outfit, he knows he has seen. Plus, the fact it took him a solid ten minutes before realising the side of the sofa he’s slouched down on is the same side as Mitch had done a cam show on the night before. 

He’ll come clean when Mitch gets back. After he’s hobbled to the bathroom and taken care of himself. 

No wonder, Mitch moved up to the Penthouse though, its views are stunning, plus the bathroom.

There might only be a floor separating them, but this bathroom is exquisite. 

He’d known that from the videos, but to see it in person. 

Peeing with a boner sucks, no matter how hard he tries to push his dick down it still takes a minute for the trickle to actually get started. 

Fighting down the urge to jerk off as much as he fights of the urge to rummage around Mitch’s stuff. Just to lean on the bathtub where he knows Mitch has leant.

It’s creepy. He’s being a creep. 

Mitch is a friend. And he will come clean when Mitch gets back up with the pizza. 

Flushes and prepares for the inevitable walk of shame, how he’ll have to hobble back down to the lift and his own floor. 

Turns around to the sink, which is halfway across the bathroom. Without the cold compress the ache has started to seep back into his toes. Which makes the walk across the bathroom more ginger, practically leaning against the sink once it’s in arms reach. It’s a deep basin, high edges, and square shape. Modern but functional, is probably how it was described in the brochure.

It’s current function, evidently, is to store a sizeable in all senses of the word, collection of phallic sex toys. 

The boner is back with full force, pressed up against the cool side of the sink. 

There’s obviously all drying after being washed. Alex knows Mitch hadn’t used any, to the best of his knowledge, on the cam show the night before. Then he sees the glint of a crystal end. Knows it’s the butt plug from _Jerking of to my neighbour having sex_.

When you drive cars professionally, it becomes second nature to make split second decisions traveling at nearly two hundred miles per hour. When you’re a lawyer, you get accustomed to making decisions on the fly to further cases. Alex has been both of these things. Yet right now, with a boner and a probably fractured toe, staring at a collection of dildo’s in a sink as he hears the owner of said Dildo’s walk back into the Penthouse. Alex could not make a split-second decision if his life depended on it. 

And he can’t even wash his hands.

He has the decency to try not to blush when Mitch walks in. 

‘You can wash your hands in the sink Lex, they’ll dry out again, just.’ 

Mitch pauses and then has the decency to giggle. 

It’s a catchy one, low and rumbling in an almost awkwardness.

‘Just use the soap in the black dispenser will you’

Mitch is kind enough to let him wash his hands in peace, hobble on out back to the main room and sit back down on the sofa. 

The pizza smells good and he tucks in before either of them can conversationally begin to digest what’s just occurred. 

He’ll chalk the giggles he gets halfway through a slice of double stuffed sausage feast down to British Schoolboy-esque immaturity. Mitch seems to cotton on quickly to the giggles. 

By the time the pizza is done, he feels comfortable enough to swing his legs back up onto Mitch’s lap. 

‘Are we going to talk about the bathroom or not?’ 

Alex figures it’s better to rip it off as if it’s a plaster. Perhaps it will be a good prelude to set up a conversation in which he can come clean about knowing who Mitch is. 

‘Can a man not have multiple Dildos?’ 

Mitch flexes an eyebrow. Hands warm from where they’ve settled on his leg, probably rubbing pizza grease as much as gently rubbing up and down the skin. The touch is grounding. 

‘I’ll go clean them up and sort out all of this alright Ace’ 

And Alex freezes.

Mitch is out from underneath him, already grabbing the empty pizza boxes and heading towards the kitchen.

Mitch has only ever called him Ace once. 

It had been maybe the third or fourth time Alex had tuned into one of Mitch’s shows, under a username of random numbers and letters convinced someone would know it was him. One of those rare weekends off from GP3, settled down in his own bed. With the safety of his own, well his parents Wi-Fi. 

He remembers asking Mitchell Blake to just lounge back, show off all his body. 

Had paid extra to do so, felt weird that he hadn’t done more with the request. 

Mitchell Blake had been in cotton panties, stretched obscenely over his erection, distorting the heart pattern print of the fabric. Every other comment was ‘put your panties in your mouth doll’ or ‘pinch those nipples for me’. 

But Mitchell Blake had chosen to compile to Alex’s request.

Said in a husky voice that Alex now realises was pitched in a way to try and hide the accent. 

‘All those numbers and letters, I’m just gonna call you Ace. You wanna see my whole-body Ace?’ 

And Mitch had shown of his whole body, stretched out on the bed.

Alex had turned up to the chat room the next day with Ace36 as his username. 

Had been convinced Mitchell had smiled when he saw the username. 

So maybe Mitch does know who he is. That or he just calls people Ace at random. 

Starts to think maybe he should get everything together, make his excuses, flee the penthouse and they can never talk again. Then the sound of what Alex can only presume is a pile of sex toys hitting the floor echoes out from the bathroom. Mitch yells ‘Okay I’m sticking them in the shower’. Which apparently takes less than a minute, not enough time for Alex to have even considered all his actions or get up of the sofa.

Mitch slides back into his spot with grace. Slumps against the back of the pillows while scooping Alex’s legs into his lap. 

‘All dildos and butt plugs are accounted for in the shower alright, do you wanna watch a film?’ 

Mitch is already flicking through the Netflix queue. Settling on some Netflix original. 

By the time Alex has the courage to say, ‘I know about your porn career’, Mitch is fast asleep. Snores are the only reply. Thinks for a second that maybe he should make a move to leave the apartment, but now the courage of admission has left him, deflated, and injured. It’s just easier to follow Mitch into down into slumber.

-♡-

There is nothing elegant or glamourous, especially not for his back, about waking up on the couch. There’s probably nothing elegant or glamorous either about waking up drooling into the guy you fancies crotch. Staining the fabric of his boxer shorts with drool. Yet this is what Mitch has achieved. Dribbling onto Alex’s crotch, with a bony knee poking into his chest from where he’s folded over Alex in his sleep. Not quite fully mouth on top of Alex’s dick, but its close. Enough that within his vision he can see the curvature, that if he poked his tongue out, he’d be able to reach Alex’s dick, swipe up a nice broad lick. Even soft Alex’ is sizeable, plus the memory of Alex pressed against the sink earlier, trying and failing to hide his boner, is right at the forefront of Mitch’s mind.

The TV has obviously turned off automatically. But he can see the reflection of the kitchen clock in the black screen, it’s gone two am.

‘Lex, Lex, come on. Bedtime mate’,

Alex, with credit, does stir. And doesn’t react to the fact that though he’s sat up, Mitch is still half in his lap. For his sanity, he thinks it will be sensible to show Alex the guest room or wonder if the man will go back down to his own apartment. Instead Alex follows him all the way to the Master Bedroom. All messed up hair and eyes clearly fighting the pull to close again, Mitch knows it shouldn’t be attractive, that he himself at two in the morning is probably never looking his best. Alex wears it well, like he’s adjusted to this time of night. Mitch watches him slide into the bed as if it’s his own, eyes shutting closed and out like a light again.

He’s on Mitch’s favoured side of the bed.

Two AM thoughts are a dangerous game, hazy and unclear. A focus on intricacies Mitch wouldn’t think about in the sunlight. Alex has curled on his side, hair flopped over the pillow and still in the white t-shirt with dirt specks from all the plants. His life is full of very attractive people, but to see someone like this, unguarded, feels akin to a precipice. A dangerous fall that he has little experience in landing in.

Alex’s jawline is sharp, something Mitch feels as if he forgets, so often caught up in just gratefulness he gets to be in Alex’s presence. Their lines that Mitch has to draw himself away from, knowing it’s creepy to stare. Concentrates instead on changing into a pair of boxers, that it will break all boundaries if he sleeps in the nude how he prefers. Alex shuffles a little, tries to pull the covers down almost immediately as Mitch pulls them up. Easy to say that this intimacy of sharing a bed with someone is something he experiences often. But it’s fake, a falsehood for the camera. Sure, it’s nice, the way a shooting partner will let him curl up post orgasm. Once the cameras are off, but five minutes doesn’t make for stability. And he’s never felt guilty about fucking other men but thinking about it right now while Alex sleeps a few centimetres away feels wrong. Then Alex’s hand stretches out, grabs the tip of his arm, and shuffles himself closer. Not quite a proper cuddle, but close too it. He’d feel guilty for how fast his eyelids start to drop as he’s bracketed by Alex’s arms, except he’s asleep before he has the chance.

This time he wakes up by actual daylight. Obviously, he’d been distracted enough by Alex asleep last night, he never closed the blinds. Which is a mistake when your windows are floor to ceiling. Then he clocks Alex, across the bed, looking at him. Alex at least has the decency to look embarrassed that he’s clearly been caught staring, or maybe the wide-eyed look comes from the fact that Alex’s fingers are tucked into the waistband of Mitch’s boxers. A soft touch, just the graze of fingertips against the bottom of his abs. Alex looks as if he’s unsure if its right to move his fingers away. From the way both their bodies are sprawled, its clear they’ve gravitated towards each other in the night. Which is the scariest thing, Mitch so used to being touched in intimate ways. But in such a manner its disconnected from anything close to a relationship.

Maybe that’s why Mitch makes his next move.

Perhaps he gets lost, in the depths of Alex’s eyes. Or, in the way he feels the fingers grazing his stomach go to move and then resettle, multiple times. How the sun is streaming in, illuminating the shades of brown in Alex’s pupils.

It’s just, it seems obvious to pull himself in closer to Alex, lean up a little to close the small gap between their faces. To Mitch it seems so reasonable, to slot his lips against Alex’s. How he feels more than sees Alex’s eyes close, the gentle brush of eyelash against his face. That it feels a proper conclusion, to get lost in the way Alex’s arms move to gain better purchase while he kisses back softly. How when Alex pulls away, his lips are pink, his cheeks are blushed.

How when Alex pulls away properly, stumbling out of the bed muttering apologies that seem nonsensical in their pacing, hobbling away from the bedroom. Mitch can do nothing but slump back into the sheets.

There’s no point trying to explain or apologise to Alex if he misread the situation wrong.

Knows it’s all messed up before it’s really begun.

-♡-

Worrying really, how many Mitchell Blake films he owns. It takes a solid hour for him to move all the films from his laptop to a separate hard drive. Then a further half hour to grab all the physical DVD’s, pack them tightly into a shoe box and shove them in the tiny room he’s deemed storage. The worst thing is Alex can’t find _Fat Fucking Cocks 4._ It seems to have gone missing. Only so many times he can check the DVD player, circle through the apartment searching for the missing DVD. Alex just knows he has to get rid of the evidence. Bury it down at least. 

Bury them down as deep as the memory of Mitch kissing him. In the sprawl of the bedsheets, how his fingers had felt pressed against Mitch’s skin, low enough to feel neatly trimmed hairs just skim the top of his fingers. How he’d woken up with his fingers down Mitch’s boxers, felt guilty, but by the time he goes to break the contact, slip his fingers out from there elastic prison. Mitch had opened his eyes, looked at him with dark pupils. It takes him longer to work out they are sideways in a bed, vaguely remembering how Mitch had woken him up. Than to register the press of lips. 

He was never the jet set life of a racing driver in the way others were, can count the amount of people’s he’s kissed on his hands. Yet if you asked him now Alex knows he wouldn’t be able to name a single person who he’s kissed. Apart from Mitch. 

Mitch, who right now is a floor above. Maybe he’s still in the bed Alex left him in. The bed Alex had paid money to see Mitch writhe about in. That he can’t separate the Mitch and Mitchell. 

Maybe it’s the way the confession had come just too late, Mitch too far gone to hear. 

All Alex wants is Mitch on even open terms. 

Mitch, who is right now a floor above, will remain that way. Distant and so close. Because Alex knows in himself that he is too afraid to clear the air. Right the wrongs. Hopefully one day he can kiss Mitch again. Makes a vow to sleep on it and makes a second vow to find _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_ to bury it with the rest of his guilt. 

Instead. Approximately three hours later. Halfway through a phone call with an exasperated Sam and by the sounds of it, a very exhausted Jev. He ends up calling Mitch with shaky hands. 

‘Hey’

‘Alright Lex?’, Mitch sounds normal. Nothing to read in his tone. 

‘I was just thinking. Maybe you want to come over for dinner tonight?’

Alex can hear Mitch audible smack his lips and hush some people in the background.

‘Sorry Stoffel and Norman are here.’ There’s a pause before a ‘Traitors’ that Alex senses is not directed at him at all. 

‘Shit, sorry If I’m interrupting’ 

‘No, god Alex, I’d love to come over for dinner tonight.’

It’s hard for him not to let a relived smile stretch over his face.

‘Mega, Mega, I’ll see you at Seven then?’ 

‘Seven, perfect. See you then Lex’

The disconnect beeps are barely done echoing when he gets a text. It’s from Mitch. 

** Like a date? **

Three words shouldn’t wind him the way they do. Mitch probably thinks he’s dumb, a floor above watching the **…** of typing go back and forth with no reply. Of course, like a date. So desperately Alex wants it as a date. Every answer seems so needy to Mitch’s ease of a question. Settles on ****

** Yeah, Like a date. **

To spend the twenty seconds between sent read and Mitch is typing to freak out. 

** Good. I really want that. **

He’s impressed he manages to make it to the corner store, grabbing some meagre ingredients he doesn’t have stored away in cupboards, with the fact that Mitch won’t stop texting him. All the messages sound more cautious, less outright flirting than it has been before. Outright flirting that Alex hadn’t realised was flirting until he’s walking back to the apartment block, scrolling through their past messages noticing the obvious changes in Mitch’s language. 

As if they are allowed to restart this thing between them. 

Desperately Alex hopes that this all can continue when he comes clean with the truth over dinner. Knows his therapist would not encourage him to over think the scenarios, that he can’t control everything in the future. Instead he focuses on the things he can control, cleans the apartment. Makes sure the shoe rack is neat. That his framed racing suit signed by everyone from his Formula E season is hanging straight on the wall, maybe to presumptuous that Mitch will come in the bedroom to see it. Hoovers the floors with his crappy hoover that’s travelled with him for too many houses, pushing the dirt into one side more than sucking it up. Ends up putting Radio 1 on so he can feel a little more homely, comforted by the accents and the songs. It’s a ‘Greatest Hits’ hour, all songs that Alex has fond memories off. Enough to distract while he preps the food for tonight. He’s not the best cook by anyone’s standards. More just knows enough to get by on his own. 

Today feels stretched out and long, almost as if the actions of the morning were something from days ago. Memory of the kiss feels hazy. Almost unreal. Easier to recall all the moments shared with Mitch over the month, they feel so close and tender. Compared to the almost dreamlike manner of the kiss. 

A blessing of this apartment is its semi walk in wardrobe, where he’s stood shirtless, debating the merits of light green or a dark blue for his fitted shirt colour choice. Green brings out his eyes, but there’s something in the dark blue that screams Mitch. Or maybe he should change the jeans and scrap the fitted shirt idea. Mitch has seen him now in way less. Which is probably the thought that finds him at Seven O’clock sat in just the jeans, perched on the edge of the bed with a knock interrupting the calamitous decision between green and blue. 

Green wins out, by virtue of being on top of the other shirt. Opening the door to Mitch with half the buttons still undone. 

Mitch has the decency too look sheepish. An odd look on his normally confident face. It calms Alex that maybe they are just as nervous as each other. Mitch is clutching on to the Electric Blue Orchid as Alex manages the last few buttons up. Shades of blue bright against his soft grey sweater. 

‘You really have the first rule of Orchid care down to a T, Lex’ 

‘No talking about Orchid Club?’

Mitch laughs at that, sounds genuinely happy at the easy reference. 

‘Leave the Orchid to someone else to care for’ 

Alex will pretend he isn’t left shell shocked in his door jamb, by the soft kiss Mitch leans up to press on his cheeks in greeting, clutching the Orchid pressed into his arms.

‘Smells good, what’s on the menu then’ 

He’ll also pretend he did well at biting back the ‘You’ on his tongue. 

‘Come in Mitch, make yourself at home’

‘You forget I lived here once’

It’s hard for Alex to forget that fact, especially with the traces of Mitch’s activities still staining the walls of the apartment. 

‘You’ve made it look good, homely in a different way’ 

Mitch seems to say it with meaning, sat on Alex’s sofa like he’s meant to be there. 

‘Very you Alex Lynn.’

The compliment is ruined when it’s followed up with ‘Shit I forgot to bring the wine’. 

But now Mitch is here, back in Alex’s space, every part of him doesn’t want the man to leave. 

-♡-

Alex has the radio on, and it appears to be a collection of dance anthems. A British station he’s tuned in to. Mitch had found himself begging, politely, if slightly heavily banter intoned, for Alex to not turn it off. It’s at a nice volume not overbearing but audible, and it’s a good mix.

Probably not suited for the meal, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind. Takes a pull from his beer, smiles. It’s Blue Coast, which for some reason Alex had argued was the closest he could find to New Zealand beer at the last minute, even though on the label it clearly says it’s from Côte d’Azure. Hard to find a sticking point in the logic though, for how sweet it is that Alex tried. Plus, it’s not half bad beer. For a brand he’s never heard off. He’s not bothered about the bottle of wine he paid for with a note that ended in single digits.

Laughs that at Alex, ‘Paid over a tenner for the wine you’ve made me leave upstairs’

Probably too early in the night for the ‘Save it for next time’ that falls from Alex’s lips. Accompanied by the running of hands through hair that Mitch has learnt to associate with Alex being unsure. A moment that’s a tiny blip of unsteadiness.

Alex seems to have managed everything but a table. So, they end up eating at the breakfast bar, sat next to each other, which feels somehow more intimate than being opposite each other.

He can see a stain on the wall, one that he knows he left in the apartment. An actual cooking related stain. Jolted out of staring at the mark by the sharp hit of Alex’s elbows to his side from where they are sat too close.

Eventually, plates cleared, Alex makes them retire to the main space. Warm and easy conversation. As it always has been.

The beers are starting to kick in. Enough that he clocks a ruddy blotch on the apples of Alex’s cheeks, moves to check the percent on the bottle and find’s its higher than he thought.

Save for the casual drinks Mitch has with his friends, he’s not much for drinking. Senses Alex isn’t either, by the way the alcohol seems to be affecting them.

For some reason, certainly not on his suggestion, they end up playing FIFA. Squished way to close on the cushions. Especially the way he’s almost in Alex’s lap as the Brit explains ‘Tekkers’ to him. What sounds like an Urban Dictionary read shouldn’t be so sensual, but there’s something about the way Alex’ accent folds around the word. Hard on the Tek and soft for the rest. 

He actually wins a match, which is impressive since most of his energy is going on shifting around so he doesn’t end up completely sprawled on Alex’s lap, even drunk, the memories of that morning are strong. How Alex had run away. While this feels like a reset on a few hours ago. Every part of him wants to do it right. Especially from the signs Alex is giving him, the feet flung into his lap, bandaged toe wrapped tight.

FIFA like all good multiplayer games, comes to a close, probably when he gets his ass kicked for the third match. He’s not a sore loser but Alex clearly still has the streak of a racer. Almost wants to suggest they quit ball games and play a racer. But Mitch knows he’s incompetent enough at Mario Kart, Alex probably has serious racing games. Probably not cool to come off as totally new at Video Games.

Eventually, after the Xbox is turned off, he expects Alex to turn the TV on proper. Instead, he gets a toe nudging his hand. Mitch likes the way they mirror the positions from last night. How it’s very them. Imagines for half a second, that this could be a life to get used to. Idly running his hand up Alex’s leg while they just share each other’s company. Stops his thoughts in their tracks.

‘Mitch, I need to tell you something’

He leans down to grab his beer bottle, as something to do with his hands, Alex sounds so serious. Sharp in a way he wasn’t moments before. Of course, Mitch misjudges the distance and knocks the bottle over.

The sound of the bottle rolling echoes around in the silence, accompanied with the quick fizzling out of the remaining liquid on the hard wood floors.

‘Shit shit shit’

He’s on his knees scrabbling around for the bottle before Alex has even said anything.

‘Hey, Mitch, it’s alright. I’m gonna go grab some towels’

All of it seems to happen in one big blur, a woosh of Alex’s legs kicking over his head. Sound of footsteps echoing behind. Steadying his hand on the floor so as to not slip in the puddle of beer while watching the fingertips of his other hand reach out under the couch. Coming back not with the bottle but with a DVD case. Lying there, at the most awkward angle, staring at his own face on the box. Mitch can do nothing but burst into laughter. Tapering off almost immediately, dying into an awkward stutter of a thing as Alex leans down. Surely, Mitch hopes, that Alex can’t see the DVD in his hand. Still thinks he’s searching for the bottle.

‘Are you okay? Mitch what’s so funny?’

No part of Mitch knows how to explain, the way he’s opening the Jewel Case desperately hopeful that the sudden thought that’s crossed his mind will be true. Shaking fingers at the clasp on the black box. Horrible collage of him in a myriad of positions staring back at him from the cover. _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_ was never his masterpiece, _3_ was really were he peaked. But if he’s right, then this is a copy of _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_ that he had signed. A tight scrawl. Shipped out from the days he was doing his own merch and production. There it is. Scrawled on the disc itself.

**To Ace36, my favourite fan xxx**

At least it saves a confession.

‘Did you get the bottle?’

Alex has sat back down. Dropped the towel in the pile.

Mitch feels the weight of Alex’s feet on his back. Suppresses the laugh that wants to bubble again.

Alex knows who he is.

‘I got the bottle Ace’

Rush of memories seeping in as he rolls his body over, keeps the arm holding the DVD hidden away. Sobered up, staring at Alex Lynn’s ceiling. The ceiling he used to live under. Alex’s feet land on his stomach as he rolls over. Years ago, when he was young and naïve. Willing to do things he wouldn’t dare do now, more out of wanting to be the best as a survival instinct than the luxury of being the best from hard work he has now. He had sold those panties. Grown out of the performance of them. Upgraded to expensive lace and flattering jock straps. He’d said Ace to a username, a string of letters because it had felt right in that moment. Lips still forming around the right words to use in the environment of live video work. The way he’d laid down in the bed after turning the stream off that night, regretting the fact that he felt there had been a breaking of the rules laid down by his own self. To not focus on one person.

Then the next night Ace36 was there.

Mitch had hoped desperately for it to be the same person. As Ace36 stuck with him through the years.

Looks to the DVD again, at the thought of all the gifts Ace36-Alex has sent him, while they’ve known each other.

‘Lex, what about the guy I saw you with?’

He has to know.

‘What. Mitch come up here.’

The response is still slurred sounding. Like the Alcohol is still deep in Alex’s system.

‘Humour me’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about’

‘Shorter than me, blond, sexy beard, nice ass’

‘Sam? What about Sam?’

Mitch doesn’t really think about the phrasing of the words falling from his mouth.

‘And the lube?’

‘Mitch what are you on abo- oh - he was having a threesome with his wife and Jev- a French Driver, he needed tips. And lube. I was the only gay he knew.’ There words said with a hollow voice.

Mitch wants to know everything about Alex, to learn everything about him slowly. Folds a hand over the foot pressed gently on his stomach, fingers delicate around Alex’s ankle.

It feels like he’s cheated finding the DVD. That he wanted to be told.

A reveal he can’t change.

‘I’m a porn star Alex’

Mitch says the words to the ceiling.

Lets his body move up onto the cushion, clutching to the DVD as if it’s a lifeline.

His face at 20, baby faced, recognisable all the ways he has grown, stares back at him from the cover. Alex stares at him too.

Mitch watches the words fall from Alex lips.

‘I think I’ve made a fool of myself over you’

They pull a smile to his lips; Alex hasn’t made a fool of himself at all.

Consent comes easy at this point, Mitch has strived to have a career where it’s at the forefront of his actions, lets it seep rightfully so into his real life. Has big regrets over that morning, not asking for the kiss and reading the situation so wrong. A mistake he rarely makes.

‘Can I hug you?’

‘I’d really like that Mitch’, Mitch curls into the gap Alex makes for him. Slots them together. He’s so used to being the smaller one, a head smaller than Alex. Who makes him feel welcome in his arms.

Finds its really nice, just to share the silence with someone. Breathing in sync. All the pieces of the mess they’ve ended up in just detritus around them now.

‘Let’s go to bed Lex, talk about this in the morning’, leaves “when we are sober unspoken.”

-♡-

No part of him want’s to be above begging, begging for Mitch to stay near him, to not leave the apartment in an echo of the way he had left Mitch’s apartment just that morning. Alcohol dragging his limbs all heavy and slow. Mitch tucked into his side as if they are puzzle pieces. 

Feels robbed, of a confession, maybe it had made things easier. Just the way things are. No part of them together can turn back the time. All the truth out as an unbearable weight. Something that was meant to lighten things. 

‘Don’t leave’, Alex finds himself begging, the moment Mitch sits up properly.

‘I wasn’t planning on. Just two nights on the couch isn’t good for either of us’ 

Mitch pulls him up, tucked back into his side to make their way to the bedroom as a unit.

‘Second on the- oh’, suddenly it’s the funniest thing in the world. Of course, Mitch knows where the bedroom is. 

Alex had done it up, different from how Mitch had laid the room out, which Mitch gleefully tells him as they make preparations for bed. An easy out from a complicated conversation. But one that Alex is grateful for. By the time he’s lying down in the bed sheets, Mitch has run out of comparisons to make. Instead standing looking at the race suit that hangs on the wall. Alex isn’t even sure why he keeps it in the bedroom, it stings in here having to look at it. A memory of a what if. But it seems so show-off in the main room. He’s been meaning to move it to the hallway for weeks, keeps putting it off because if he flips over to the back of the frame, he will see the messages from Sam and Sylvain there. They are the sort of messages that tip him over into a fragile emotional state. In a way he doesn’t really understand until the tears have turned into that dry headache you get post crying. 

Mitch seems to get it, or maybe Alex is just projecting such a face that the other man understands it’s something not to be touched. Not yet. Crawls into bed, and suddenly Alex has Mitch attached to him almost akin to a limpet. 

Sleep the night before had been easy, probably because they had already been asleep by the time they headed to bed. But now there in that awkward period of cluelessness on how to be around each other. Learning sleeping positions while still being able to touch. Its difficult. Every time Alex thinks he’s comfortable, suddenly Mitch’s knee is in his side.

Eventually, sleep does actually take him down, only when he finds out that Mitch is as comfortable a pillow as the actual pillows. 

When he wakes up, it’s to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the ring of his work alarm. 

Worse than the shrill alarm is the way he feels near death warmed up. Skin clammy and head splitting. Tolerance shot from years of racing. Scratch that, Alex thinks, worse is the way he feels knowing Mitch has left him. Alone. That the truth is all out there, and he didn’t get to confess. 

At least he now knows the location of _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_. 

Rolls into the pillows that smell faintly of Mitch’s hair gel, inhaling the scent before unleashing a scream. It’s sort of a pathetic scream, more of a hoarse yell.

There’s a dull thump on the bed, the weight of someone sitting down. 

‘Shit Lex, you okay?’ 

Alex is in fact okay, probably only because Mitch is still in fact, here. And also, when he removes his head from the muffled pillow prison. Mitch is most definitely wearing one of Alex’s shirts, stretched over him in a different way then it falls on Alex’s body. Spanning over broader shoulders, covering more of Mitch’s bottom, which in turn is covered by a pair of Y-Front’s that really show off the curve of Mitch’s ass. 

‘I’m fine.’ Is what he does say, ‘Your hot’ is what he just stops himself from saying. Biting his tongue so the words don’t fall out, too forthcoming for this situation.

‘Good, made us coffee. The proper New Zealand way with a little André Lotterer Flair’ 

Alex isn’t quite sure what any of these words mean put together, concerned by the way the name André Lotterer sort of rings a bell. 

Coffee, the proper New Zealand way turns out to be a process Alex’s brain can’t quite understand. Used to the ease of instant coffee or popping a pod in his machine. 

Mitch appears to have brought extra coffee supplies and woken up before Alex’s alarm went. Which puts the time at around 7am. Alex hate’s how good 7am looks on Mitch. Probably the fact that the coffee is amazing. 

‘Please,’ he begs, ‘put some of this in the reusable mug’ 

Mitch laughs, warm, the one that pulls his eyes up into a happy smile. 

‘You like that huh, how you Brit’s live on your coffee.’ 

‘Did you go to your Penthouse in my shirt? To get coffee’ 

It’s not an excuse to the state of British coffee, but Mitch has a pleased little smile on his face. 

Alex is just glad there’s no awkwardness around them. Even when the awkwardness that could have been there eats him up on the way to the office proper. Trying not to think of the way Mitch had pulled his jeans on but kept Alex’s shirt. The way that he had asked ‘Can I kiss you goodbye’, and Alex had expected a kiss on the lips as he locked the apartment door, instead receiving a soft kiss on the cheek. 

They still have to talk properly, that’s something they can’t keep avoiding. 

Mitch seems to think so too when Alex opens his bag to find a note. 

made u lunch ace, 

jokes. 

enjoy your coffee, 

ready to talk whenever you are

think of all the people that would kill to date a pornstar

(that was also a joke)

mitch x

‘You sorted out the relationship troubles then?’ Jérôme scares the shit out of Alex, appearing out of nowhere. 

‘Getting there Jerome. How’s married life?’, 

Mitch’s coffee is maybe the only thing that gets him through the day, even when the drink has fully gone the taste lingers on his tongue. Preventing the combination of a stress and borderline hungover headache that’s slipping in. 

It ends up being the week from hell at work. Complicated big-name clients, his first proper big job at the company. Fuelled by the desire to impress. 

Every morning he opens the apartment door to find a reusable cup filled with coffee, it’s slightly different flavours each time. But makes up for the fact that he can’t make time for Mitch. Barely managing to make time’s for meals let alone being coherent enough to snap out of lawyer brain to message Mitch something more concrete than, sorry, thanks for the coffee. 

-♡-

‘You’re an idiot. A lovesick idiot. Mitch you’ve managed to live a movie plot. This is something that happens to people in fiction.’,

‘I think it’s really sweet that your making him coffee though. Are you doing it the André way? You sick twisted Kiwi bastard you are aren’t you. That’s a marriage proposal in André terms you know that.’

Mitch is pretty sure that the method André uses to add milk to coffee is not in fact, the man’s equivalent of a marriage proposal. Even though Stoffel is trying his hardest to sell it as that.

‘He’s busy working, I’m busy working. We are adults. You two are just mad that the honeymoon period has long ended on the both of you’

Which riles Norman up enough that Mitch spends the rest of lunch watching Stoffel turn redder and redder as Norman describes exactly why their honeymoon period is never close to ending.

Alex eventually does message, setting a tentative meet up for Sunday afternoon, pre-faced with apologies that he might have to cancel.

Mitch tries to make the most of his week. Organising shoots. Norman offers assistance, probably as an apology for riling everyone up over lunch. And eventually Stoffel tags along when he hears the idea.

And if Mitch sends Ace36 some personal behind the scenes photos, of him, Stoffel and Norman in very skimpy workout gear at an outdoor gym, lifting tyres and up short shots during push ups. It’s out of the care of his heart, just to make sure Alex is having a nice week. They’d gone back to his Penthouse to film the rest of the video. Foreplay in the shower leading to fucking in the guest room. The other two are sleeping next to him in the bed now all the cameras are off, curled up in one another leaving him alone on the edge of the mattress.

He’d sent the photos hours ago, read receipt says they’ve been received but Alex hasn’t responded. Maybe he broke a boundary, since they haven’t discussed the fact that Mitch knows.

Feels a fool, just so caught up in how good they had all looked. That he couldn’t resist sending the photos just to show off, it had seemed like the sort of thing that he would send out to his fans anyways, for money and not for free. The ones he does put up for money are not nearly as hot. Simpler behind the scenes captures with less thought into the composition of the photo. Which is not how you get or keep customers, but all of Mitch just wants to make Alex happy.

Mitch wakes up to Stoffel and Norman making out heavily, clearly still trying to prove they are still in the honeymoon phase for sure, and a message.

‘Not sure how to phrase this Mitch, but fucking hell. Those were hot. Feeling a bit guilty about whether or not to pay you though.’

‘You don’t have to pay me. Sorry if it was too forward’

Stoffel’s elbow is dug into his side, the sound of kissing is almost gross, pornographic in the sloppiest of manners. Mitch doesn’t know how to say I wish Sunday would come quicker, even though its Thursday now.

‘Keep it down you two’, bites back the ‘is this what being old and horny is’, unwilling to get into a fight about the two-year age difference. Refuses their arms trying to drag him into the making out. Which slowly drifts into more than making out, it’s very sweet probably, how comfortable they are with fucking each other while he rolls over and goes back to sleep. 

Editing the video gets him to Saturday night, which is accompanied by a sudden freak out, one that Mitch wasn’t ready for. Confident in every other movement of his life. Maybe Stoffel and Norman are right, that he’s in too deep for Alex already. That the coffee in the mornings is too far, the fact they haven’t spoken properly is a bad thing. Ace36 buys ‘Fucking my Gym Buddies – public blow jobs + threesome’, which has to mean something.

Mitch isn’t sure what though.

Not until Alex slips into the elevator next to him on Sunday morning, clad in Lycra and clutching a bike. Mitch is very impressed with the fact he doesn’t drop the pastries he’d gone to the bakery for.

‘I’m not trying to copy your look promise, can’t fill it out the way you boys do’, Alex says, leaning down to press two kisses to Mitch’s cheeks.

Which leaves Mitch gobsmacked. This Alex is smugly confident. Talking about how good the bike ride was to shake the head out as the lift heads up.

‘See you later Mitch’, and then Alex genuinely winks. A bat of pretty eyelashes, which is such a move he himself would pull that it throws him for a spinner.

Maybe it is going to go okay. Hopefully. If he doesn’t chafe his dick furiously jerking off the moment he steps into the Penthouse, reducing his joggers to “for the wash pile”. Alex’s wink and smirk firmly etched behind his eyes as he orgasms. He’s just glad there meeting up at Alex’s because it might be obvious the way Mitch has had to clean the floor.

On his hands and knees wiping up flecks of cum with his ruined joggers is probably not the best time to wonder if he’s wasted an orgasm. That all the cum on the wood has been misspent, would have looked better spread out all on Alex’s toned torso. Gone quickly in the feelings of not wanting to rush things, the same feelings that seem to bubble up every time Mitch finds himself thinking of Alex.

Stoffel and Norman are on to something surely, that there’s something nice about sloppily making out with someone. Alex in Lycra has clearly done a number on him that he’s thinking, not about fucking someone, but about getting to trail kisses delicately up Alex’s long neck. Hearing what moans will happen when he kisses each clavicle. If the left side is different from the right side. Or if Alex would make a moan at all. Enough to make his dick twitch again, standing there just his shirt thinking about gently disengaging from Alex’s lips. Playing it safe and chaste, knowing that Alex has seen him in all manner of debauched ways already. But that he wants to take it slow. To let them explore all of each other. 

Showers, properly, the kind where he opens himself up slowly. Less as a just in case and more as a tease. Not used to deliberating whether or not he should use a plug. This is just for himself, post orgasm confidence.

Knows he’s attractive, is to aware of it.

Half tempted to post a selfie, from where he’s lounged against the bathroom door, with the Mitch in the mirror staring back all perfected pout, ripped jeans, and tight black t-shirt. Toys with the caption on his stories for a while. If he posts it on his private is it too forward to say ‘Date Night’. Alex will see it, and he doesn’t want to presume. Even though last weekend was a confirmed date. Fiddles around with the font for a while, more as a killing time.

Posts it before he can coward out.

Alex sends him a picture reply, of him shirtless in what had been Mitch’s storage room but appears to be Alex’s walk-in closet.

‘Picking out shirts for date night is hard when my dates already spoiled his look’

-♡-

No way to place the sudden rush of confidence that seems to be thrumming right through him. Just that, they won the case on Friday. Sorted out the ends yesterday. And on a night of really good sleep, plus a good cycle ride. He’d felt a little cocky. Seeing Mitch in the elevator all joggers and golden smile. Something had taken over his mind. And his right hand when he’d made it into the apartment. Careful to get out of his cycling shorts before jerking off frantically in the bathroom. 

Everything’s out in the air, sort of. And Alex wants to get the awkward over to move on to thinking about the future. Maybe so they can hurry up onto the kissing portion. He’s feeling very good. Stretched out and loose limbed, the burn in his calves a delicious pain. Despite all the stress of the week, his skin is practically glowing. Plus, the way he looks post shower is enough to tease back at Mitch’s date night selfie when Alex catches it on Instagram. If the camera’s angled just right to show off more of his torso than the shirt’s he’s planning on wearing. It’s only Mitch that can be mad. 

Judging by the ‘Hello Handsome’ that Mitch greets him with, the picture was probably worth it. 

How he gets tiny shivers with the way the puff of breath from where Mitch presses kisses to his cheeks in greeting. So accustomed to the gentle touch of lips on his face but not the stupor it puts him in after, staring at the way Mitch makes himself comfortable on the sofa again. As if he belongs in Alex’s life, slipped in and natural with the surroundings. How much Alex wants to lean down to kiss Mitch, bend half his height and slot their lips together, feel the lines of Mitch’s jaw as he slips his hands up to hold Mitch’s face.

‘You sitting down Ace or are you just gonna stare at me? I know you enjoy that’ 

Mitch looks delighted by his own comment until his face morphs into a softer pout. 

‘It’s okay. I enjoy that. Now that we’ve come clean’

Alex has made sure there’s no alcohol in the apartment. Just to avoid all repeat of last weekend. 

Sits down on the sofa, Mitch has taken his side of the pillows. Smiles cheekily when Alex realises.

‘I was going to admit things’, it’s a start, folding his feet up into Mitch’s lap as normal. The crunch of his cuffed jeans as they fold up. 

‘And then life happened?’

‘Basically. Look mate, what if you ran into your favourite actor in a lift. Swapped numbers with him’

Mitch’s laugh is nice, reverbing deep and happy. 

‘Stoffel and Norman think I’m living a rom-com. That you’re my Hugh Grant’ 

‘Does this make you Julia Roberts?’, It’s an awkward reply. Or at least one that he thinks sounds awkward.

‘I normally admit things early on. About what I do.’ Mitch says it with such a formal tone, one that Alex knows there is a story behind. ‘It’s easy for some guys to say they want to date me, for who I am. For the status. But harder for them to follow through. This isn’t a rom com, no matter how much any friends I have think it might be’ 

Alex smiles in spite of himself. ‘For the record, Mitch. I’ve always seen the lines between you and Mitchell’. Holds back the moments of realisation that seemed to be the entire garden centre trip. Unable to phrase them correctly into “I’ve seen your body bare and all manner of things happen to you, but actually I fell for you in between puddles and hydrangeas. Maybe before then when I saw you for the first time.” Because it sounds awfully romantic. 

‘Lex, it’s just. I know you’ve seen me fuck and- oh’, whatever Mitch was going to say is broken of into giggles. 

Has to poke Mitch a fair few times in the stomach just to stop the giggles. 

‘You brought _Jerking of to my neighbour having sex_ , you know that was about you and Sam right.’ Is what eventually wheezes out of Mitch, after a reasonably hefty jab. Followed by more laughing, no doubt at how red his face as gone. ‘Mitch I just thought. It was in the abstract. Not with Sam, he’s like my Dad sometimes – Not like that Mitch’ 

It somehow leads to them rolling about on the sofa, a semi play wrestle. Alex regrets wearing jeans as much as Mitch probably does. Especially when Mitch ends up on top, pinning him down with thick thighs, holding his arms on the edge of the sofa. 

‘Aren’t we meant to be having a serious discussion Lex’

‘You started it’ 

Mitch does actually roll off, poking his tongue out and they do actually have a serious discussion. If there a little closer together on the sofa while making confessions, then so be it. 

‘I think the worst thing, is that you had to find out not from me. And I know I was there Mitch, but I wanted to be the one to tell you. The fact I was about to tell you. Then this whole week being apart with barely anytime to think for myself. Kept together by your coffee and the thought you might not be mad’, Alex winds it down. 

‘I don’t enjoy the fact I took the confession from you. Or the fact that you lied in a way about knowing who I am’ Mitch levels him a look that’s more playful than proper heat. ‘I understand why though. Just one thing Lex’ 

There’s a pause, heavy in the air. Both of them practically intertwined now on the pillow, Alex holding onto Mitch’s wrist loosely, rubbing up and down the skin to drift over the shiny face of the heavy silver watch. 

‘This is my job; I don’t want to give it up’ 

Probably not the sentence for Alex to burst out laughing too, they seem to do a lot of that the both of them, still treading the new water and understanding actions between them. 

‘Mitch you idiot. I was buying things from you after I knew.’ 

Mitch’s mouth forms a pretty ‘o’ in return. So pretty that Alex has to fight the need to ask for a kiss. 

‘Just please don’t ask me to be in any of them, that’s not my thing, I’m the voyeur and not the image’ He doesn’t have to fight the urge much longer. 

‘Hey Ace, that’s fine. I’d rather keep us to us. For now, at least’ 

Then Mitch is there, inches away from his face.

‘Can I kiss you now Ace?’ 

Alex’s lets his reply get lost in the pillow of Mitch’s lips. It’s slow, soft. More loving than Alex expected. Far removed from the heavy harsh kissing he’s so used to seeing Mitch perform. 

‘I want to take this slow’

‘Like an old romantic?’ 

‘You’re my Hugh Grant after all’ 

It’s a line, a horrible one at that. Enough to make Alex rolls his eyes, move in with his eyes set on kissing the strip of skin that’s become visible as Mitch’s shirt has pulled down in their movements. Old enough to know to not leave marks on Mitch’s skin proper. Instead whispering praises into the flesh. As if they will pierce the skin and Mitch can carry them around as marks of something more. 

Mitch is kind enough, Alex thinks, to let him go on top, bracket Mitch in. Lets him control the pace, winding a hand through Alex’s hair. Soft and loving. 

Taking it slow for Mitch apparently extends to kissing for what transpires to be a full hour, but in real time feels only minutes. Alex doesn’t want it to end, but slowly natural needs overtake the desire of kissing, like the low grumble in his stomach, starving for food. 

Mitch makes good omelettes as well as good coffee. Looking rumpled at the breakfast bar, kissed out lips and messed up hair. 

‘Lawyer and a porn star, seems like a bit’, Alex is getting used to the way Mitch is with contact, back to Mitch’s head resting in the crook of his arms. ‘Surely it’s some inspiration for you though’, he offers up. Mitch hums, as if he’s contemplating Alex’s words. 

‘I don’t object to us kissing more’ 

Alex is sure his eyes have rolled to the back of his head. 

‘Can I at least finish the omelette? Do you object to that?’ 

-♡-

‘Is it official yet’, André’s voice sounds more patronising on the phone. ‘Don’t play coy Mitchell, I can practically see you blush’

Mitch wants to protest. Mainly because he is blushing, and probably because they aren’t really official. How André even knows anything, has the cheek to laugh when Mitch asks how he knows anything.

More because, no matter how much he denies things. He and Alex have been on what must be a hundred dates between _that_ Sunday and now.

‘I don’t think, in a month, you have been on a hundred dates Mitch. But you should make it official darling’ André drawls it out as if he has a cigarette between his teeth. Snapping for information to a sentence Mitch hadn’t even realised he had said out loud.

Yet Mitch can’t work out how to, in between work and this constant all consuming presence of Alex. It’s not even that they talk all the time, that he’s dived headfirst into a relationship. Just the thought of Alex is taking the time up. Slotted within orchid care advice via Face Time, brunch in between meetings for Alex and shoots for himself. Feels clingy, in a way that he hasn’t felt before. As if infatuation has long passed. That this has shifted into something more.

André hangs up with a laugh.

‘You all good, sounded pretty serious?’

Alex is in his Aston Martin hat again, paired with the white t-shirt Mitch had reluctantly handed back. Now washed clean. Walking out from the bathroom. That Mitch had made sure had no dildo’s lying about on accident. Apart maybe from the one in his shower that’s there purely for aesthetic purposes.

Mitch feels his heart stop for a second, maybe at the sight of Alex, or maybe at the thought that the other man overheard his words on the phone. Tokyo time conversion on a different plane of existence.

‘All’s fine, just André, old friend’

‘Old friend or _Old friend_ ’ Alex winks, it’s very alluring. Mitch fights the urge to grab a pillow and throw it. 

‘How many times’

‘Do you have to say not all your friends are one’s you’ve slept with I know I know’

Alex is giving that look again, the one that Mitch knows means if he doesn’t get up to move now, he will be squished in between long legs with all of six foot or so of Alex writhing around in his lap. That’s the frustrating part, the easy and practised way they slot together between the cushions.

Maybe Mitch should let Alex sneak in a few kisses, put off going out to meet Stoffel and Norman. It’s a ‘Sensible’ brunch. Alex slumps into his side, doesn’t reach out hands or sit on his lap. It’s needy in a different way, in a way Mitch knows how to deal with. That close contact he likes himself. On Alex it’s something else.

‘I’m Nervous’, a shy admission. ‘It’s meeting your family’

Mitch laughs, sure, Stoffel and Norman are family. But at the same time, there _them_. Easy to kiss away Alex’s fears. Get carried away a little. Still, make it to the restaurant on time, sat out by the bay while waiting for the other two.

Alex slots right in. The moment Stoffel and Norman turn up and Alex lets slip a ‘I see what you mean about honeymoon phase’, at the sight of Stoffel’s pale skin littered with fresh love bites.

Mitch can’t help but be proud. Even when he’s diffusing the notion of “Are you boyfriend’s?” from the other two. Alex doesn’t say anything at all when asked, turning a scarlet shade with an awkward laugh, hidden behind the brim of the Aston Martin cap.

Or how Stoffel after, pulls him aside. In a soft tone, ‘I thought you were exaggerating Mitchy mate. He’s a keeper’. Norman and Alex are just a few steps away, just out of ear shot. Mitch watches as Norman pulls Alex closely in. It’s hard to tell, quite what Alex’s expressions mean. Especially the way Norman moves through motions with his hands.

‘Please don’t tell me you left Nato over there for the “If you hurt Mitch, I’ll kill you talk” Stof, what’s Norman going to do, kill Alex with a chiselled ab?’

‘I appreciate that you think I’m the ‘Bad guy’ in my relationship. I’m sure Normy would never say anything mean. Look their bonding’ Mitch is too busy going to take the piss out of Stoffel for the pet name that he nearly misses Norman practically jump up to yank Alex hat off. Easy to recognise the bemused look on Alex’s face, almost as if he’s too in shock to realise what has happened. Then Norman is standing up on tip toes again to put the hat back on Alex’s head, backwards. The ‘Mitch like’s a bad boy’ is said loud enough that it must be meant for his ears. Plus, the irresistible smile that spreads across Alex’s lips.

‘Totally gone for him’ Mitch is ready to protest at Stoffel’s words, before he clocks the, ‘even after all these years’.

‘Shut up about Norman, have you seen Alex.’ Mitch deserves the light punch he gets to the ribs.

Norman is right though, Mitch does love a bad boy, especially Alex moving his awkward smile into something more confidence as they walk past shop windows, obvious the way Alex catches a glimpse of his own reflection.

Alex passes the best friend’s test, yet it’s still a stalemate in Mitch’s head. Not helped by the fact that when they walk into Alex’s apartment, Alex chucks a pair of Mitch’s joggers at his head. The fact that he has a pair here, it’s almost as bad as the fact he knows he has a toothbrush in the bathroom, that Alex has one in his bathroom in the penthouse. But they’ve done nothing further than cuddle in bed alongside making out.

He’s sure, that they’d promised each other. To be open, respectful of things, honest. Curled around Alex now, in the pair of joggers he apparently keeps here.

‘Do you want to watch one of my races?’

It’s the first time Alex has brought up racing proper. Without prompting.

Taking the remote from Mitch and pulling up YouTube. Here curled up in Alex’s lap, Mitch wonders if the other man has a Wikipedia page. What the trace of a career is left for the internet to find. Alex is rating his own races, with a hand idly curling through Mitch’s hair. It’s comforting. Especially to watch the Alex on the screen bring his car home safe into what Alex assures him is his best finish ever, describing the ‘humble p5’, that Mitch lets the question slip.

‘Did Norman and Stoffel make you nervous?’

‘Huh, oh, asking if we were boyfriends?’

Mitch hates that Alex can read his insecurity so well. Rolls his head a little harder into Alex’s leg. As if he’s a needy cat.

‘Mitch’

It all feels very high school drama, that Phoebe Tonkin will be at the door in a second trying to convince him that if she touches water, she’s a mermaid.

‘I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. They probably call each other ‘Partner’ or some posh adult thing’

‘There two years older than us Lex, Stoffel calls Norman “Normy”’

‘Mitch we’ve been boyfriends the entire time, it was all a bit sixth form to admit to you and your sexy European friends ---- Stop laughing. They are sexy’

Mitch doesn’t stop laughing, not the entire way scrambling up to sit on Alex’s lap properly.

‘Please don’t let either of them hear that. There egos are already so inflated’

Alex is smiling, a small private one that Mitch is starting to feel so intimate with.

‘We should watch one of your performances together’

‘Did you just decide that now’, Mitch so desperately wants to get his lips on Alex. For a connection more than the slow way he’s semi grinding down onto Alex’s laps. There’s nothing exciting about watching one of his own performances. But the way Alex says the word, all stretched out on the ‘form’. Half hard in his joggers, bulge visible in the grey fabric.

‘I’ve shown you mine, you show me yours?’

Mitch doesn’t hide his groan into the kiss. Hopes that Alex wants to watch something sensible. Within reason. Can’t bear to watch himself at twenty-two or some stupid age, naïve with it all.,

 _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_ still sits on the table, hidden under some books and papers. Mitch had clocked it early on, before Alex had put on the race.

It’s not his finest performance, by no margin. Alex smiles though when he mentions it, the sort of smile that Mitch feels pull against his mouth from where they are kissing.

‘I have all of your stuff, which makes me sound like a creep saying out loud’

In fairness to Alex, it does. Mitch is still ribbing Alex for it by the time they settle on _Fat Fucking Cocks 4_ properly. There is undeniably, something odd about the way Alex was, is, a fan of his work. Yet Mitch is reassured by the way it’s not the whole thing their relationship is built around.

It’s a compilation film. Mitch’s segment the final act. As if everything else leads up to it. Alex, maybe out of kindness or awkwardness, puts the full film on. Turns the TV down a few decibels.

And then they are there, watching porn together. Back in the position that Mitch likes the most between them, with Alex’s feet tucked up into his lap.

Mitch’s competitive streak comes to the surface. These guys are good, but it’s obvious almost straightaway why he was the biggest face on the cover. It was the fourth in the series, he’d worked his way up from one of these beginner boys. Made himself the star of the show.

Semi from earlier has gone down, but Alex is hard, evident in the black joggers. The sight of that is more erotic than anything going down on the screen.

‘I could do this better’

Alex barely glances away from the screen. Eyes transfixed.

‘You do, do this better at the end, we can skip some scenes?’

Mitch takes the jump, this is his job, to be sexy like this. Something he’s good at. Bites his lip, a complete overkill of selling the act.

‘There not worth fat fucking cock status, Ace. I could do this so much better’

Probably unfair to use Ace as the nickname for this situation, but it pulls a blush onto Alex’s cheeks, turns his head in the right way. Mitch has made sure to splay his fingers out on his stomach, tantalising close to the knot of the joggers. Watches Alex’s eyes follow the line it draws, down to where his dick is hard and tenting the fabric.

‘This okay Lex?’, wants to draw a line of consent up, not too obvious to kill the mood, but important to him. He’s made it clear for so long that he wants to take it slow and if now isn’t the right time for them to do something, needs Alex to have an out from it.

‘Jesus Christ Mitch, yeah. Yeah. It’s okay’

Easy, to slide Alex’s foot up from where its resting in the bottom of his lap, rub it gently across his dick, just so Alex knows how hard he is. If he say’s ‘It’s all for you’ is that overkill. Undoes the knot on the joggers. Slow. Steady.

-♡-

It’s an awkward angle to be positioned in. Stretched against the arm of the sofa, so his feet can rest in Mitch’s lap, but he can still see the TV. Mitch had asked, in that low voice Alex is so familiar with. Kiss worn, close to a rasp, curving around the Kiwi accent. 

It had been more than okay, shuffling into a proper position, to face Mitch properly. Have his foot run along the ridge that Mitch’s dick makes in the grey joggers. Watching the way Mitch’s hands toy with the knot. 

‘Are you going to show me’, It seems stupid to play so naïve, he’s twenty-six, capable of saying something more. 

‘Show you what Lex, My fat fucking cock’, it’s dire. Something that Alex knows he shouldn’t find sexy. Mitch laughs. Warm and calm. Shuffles out from underneath him. 

Mitch stands in front of the TV, Alex can only watch as Mitch slowly pulls the joggers down, framed by the images that play out from the screen behind. An act that shouldn’t be sexy, Mitch stood, joggers half down his thighs, cock jutting out from a tiny smattering of neatly trimmed hair. It’s better than any live shows or any footage has ever made it look. If he replies that it is fat, it doesn’t convey how much Alex finds he wants it inside his mouth. To taste it, to feel it inside him. Mitch is saying something, white noise to the thoughts running through Alex’s mind. 

‘Can I taste you’, he says, at the exact same time Mitch say’s ‘Can I see you’. 

Alex has never felt insignificant in the size of his dick, it’s proportionate to the size of his body. Always felt more entranced with the mole on his stomach, the way his dick always reaches the mark when fully erect. Aware he’s more hard lines of an athlete than something pornographic or attractive, tight muscles and sinew so different from Mitch’s thick girth in front of him. There’s no way he can make the act of slipping his joggers down sexy, not with the way his fingers shake slightly with nerves as they slip between the layer of boxer and jogger, scrambling to grab both layers of fabric to pull it all down in one go. 

He’s not a performer, not in the confident way Mitch is. Not able to hold himself right to show of his length. 

But Mitch’s gasp, is reward enough. Followed up with a ‘Fucking hell Lex, your gorgeous’. 

Which is about the last coherent sentence Mitch gets out before Alex finally gets some sense into himself, stripping out of the joggers fully, indicating for Mitch to do the same. Dragging them through to the bedroom with the aim of getting them lying down. Wants this proper, not on his sofa. 

There’s a moment in the hallway, with the bedroom in sight. Halfway through Alex discarding his shirt, the fabric over his ears when Mitch asks. 

‘Do you have lube and condoms’

Alex knows the way his face falls is what gives him away. Mitch has explained before, the need for constant testing, slipped in between dates, already normalising the act for Alex. He feels guilty, that he hasn’t had the time to go and get tested. Not in between constant workload. Nor the oversight of the fact he hasn’t got any condoms. No excuse for that either. Mitch smiles that wicked devious one, and suddenly Alex is pinned up against the hallway. Bare ass against the wall. ‘Take the key, tell me where your lube is, I’ll open myself up while you get the condoms. Left-’

Alex doesn’t let Mitch finish. Needs Mitch to know the way he wants him, flips them around so now it’s Mitch up against the wall. Sinks down to his knees. 

‘Thing is Mitch’ punctuates the words with tiny kisses, pressed against the V of Mitch’s torso. 

‘I’m gonna suck your dick, and then go open myself up while you get the condoms. Then you can fuck me’ Licks a stripe up the length, as a distraction from having to look Mitch in the eyes. Afraid that they will betray the nerves behind this burst of confidence. ‘If that’s okay?’ Savours the warmth of the way Mitch tastes. 

Feels good, to reduce Mitch to nothing but moans. 

‘I need a yes or no Mitch’ 

‘I didn’t peg you, to top from the bottom, that’s normally my job. Christ Lex, please. That’s more than okay’ 

Alex splays his fingers out, on the side of Mitch’s hip to help get leverage. Dips his head down. Blows Mitch as if it were a gift to have Mitch’s dick in his mouth. Works his tongue around the head, savouring the taste, cleanness of skin with the salty tang of pre-cum. Ignores the slight tears in his eyes from the way he has to stretch his mouth just to get it to fit. How Mitch is only gently thrusting but enough that it’s hitting his gag reflex, enough that he has to re-stabilise. Works out the angle to take all of Mitch until his nose is buried into the soft thatch of pubes. Bobs ups and down a few more times until everything is mostly spit, messy and unrefined. Rewarded with Mitch’s moans, a strong hand pulling his hair. 

‘Ace. Shit.’, the moans are different from the one Alex is so used to hearing in the films. Suddenly its so easy to notice over the wet sounds of sucking, how Mitch’s moans here in person don’t carry the artifice they do in the films. So subtle the difference. ‘Please shit Le- Lex fuck I’m gonna cum’. Alex pulls of, leans against the top of Mitch’s thigh, and looks up. 

‘Please put joggers on to go upstairs. Don’t scar anyone in the elevator’ 

If he imagines he looks attractive as he strides down the hallway towards the bedroom, then hopefully he does. Leaving Mitch behind but already aching for that contact. 

Goes through the motions of prep, turns the covers down and pushes away some of the general mess of living away. Closes his sock draw because that’s the least sexy item of clothing surely. It’s stupidly cold for some reason in the bedroom, or perhaps it’s just the spread of goosebumps on his skin in anticipation. Rolling the bottle of lube around to warm the liquid up. It’s still cold on his fingers, gloopy in its fluidity. That’s how Mitch finds him, sat on his knees three fingers deep, rocking back and forth while his cock steadily leaks. Lube warmed up and leaking out from him, generous with how much he’s used. Wants to feel the stretch of Mitch inside him, keep the ache burning through until the morning.

‘It’s been a while for me, doing this I mean. Fucking someone’, Alex is grateful Mitch seems on even ground about this, because he knows the moment Mitch’s fingers touch him, the game could be all over early. Has to reply with something strong, enticing enough that Mitch wants to know more.

‘I’m not fragile Mitch’ 

‘Oh, I know that. Not fragile at all Ace.’ 

Simple really, in the end. How Mitch steps out of his joggers again, gravitates towards the bed. 

-♡-

Alex’s bed has been folded back. Stripped down. As if Alex has the foresight that they will make a mess and then want to sleep. Mitch finds himself standing there thinking it shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Probably doesn’t help is Alex himself, split apart on three or four fingers, Mitch can’t quite tell without getting closer. Then Alex says, ‘I’m not fragile’ and Mitch has his joggers hitting the floor in a record time.

Impossible really, to deny the way that Alex is all long lines, taut with toned muscles and soft skin. Mitch can count at least three scars on knees from his position in between Alex’s legs. Fighting the pull to ask where there from, the origins of all the little nicks and cuts that make up Alex. An easy distraction from the fact that Alex’s cock is right there, hard and leaking. Mitch knows he’s good at this part on himself, sliding a hand up to join Alex’s fingers, intwining them slowly. A push and pull aided by copious amounts of lube, accompanied by moans pitching lower and lower.

Easy to smirk, when Alex’s hand falls down to the bedsheets, just leaving his fingers moving slowly. There past tentative touches, Mitch knows that if he takes Alex’s dick in his mouth in the way he wants to this will be all over far too soon.

It feels good. This connection to Alex in this way. Every sound something that Mitch finds he wants to commit to memory. God they are going to look so good together, splitting Alex apart on his dick, if he moves up now, slowly against the hard plane of Alex’s body. Then he can slide in slowly. Not as easy as that. Feels suddenly bereft of warmth when he pulls away.

‘You good Ace’ Alex is looking back with glossy eyes, tears in the corner but flushed skin, it’s instinctive to check in while he’s pushing Alex down into the bed properly, getting them positioned right. ‘Come on, tell me your good baby. You’re gonna feel so good for me. Wanna see you split open on this fat fu-’

‘Mitch wait’

So, he does, it’s an awkward position to stop in, Alex’s left leg propped up on his shoulder, his right hand pausing it’s frantic scrambling for the condom which is somewhere in the sheets.

‘You don’t have to act’, it’s said so earnestly, that he finds himself leaning forwards without thinking, practically crumpling his body over Alex just to say. ‘No pretence’s huh. Just Mitch. I can do that Alex’. Which is followed up by a ‘Holy shit Lex, your fucking flexible’, because Alex’s leg is still perched on his shoulder even though they are within kissing distance of one another.

There’s a wave of a hand, still slightly lube covered, ‘Yeah I’ll show you how flexible I am later, alright handsome, just need you in me now’, and what can Mitch do to that.

Handsome, it echoes round his mind as he finally grasps the foil wrapper from where its slid half under Alex’s ass. Rolling it carefully down his shaft, grabbing the lube bottle because a little bit more never hurt anyone.

Been a long time since someone’s called him handsome and meant it like that.

Alex is pleading, somewhere in between the moans. Mitch drinks up every word as he lines himself up. Nice to fondle around and just feel with the tip of his cock where he’s about to split Alex apart. Even through the layer of latex everything feels good. Slides just the tip in, slowly. Watching Alex’s eyes go wide at the stretch. 

Thing is, Mitch has had a lot of sex, with a lot of people. And maybe for the past few weeks, in his right-hand fuelled fantasies there had always been that deep-seated worry that sex with Alex wouldn’t live up to what he needed it to be. Trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t matter. That what he has with Alex is something he thinks and wants to be, more. Nothing mind blowing about missionary position, apart from maybe the closeness that it brings. Yet right here, right now, it’s incredible. Mitch has to bite into the soft skin of Alex’s calf from where it rests next to his head just to stop the moan, to steady himself. To not let words, spill out that he knows neither of them are ready for.

Wonders if they look good together in this way, no cameras to compare it on. Not that it matters for the way Alex is already tightening up. Suddenly, Mitch find’s himself lost in the lines of Alex. The form of them together, with the heat of it all. If he orgasms now, then it’s all over, but there’s a chance for more.

If he’s thrusting with a rhythm than he’s clueless to what it is. Moving purely on instinct, as if with every jerk of his hips he can get closer to Alex. Alex whose panting in exertion, hair flopped out on the pillows. Moaning up a storm.

‘You have a dirty mouth Ace’

The reply is just further curses, a litany of ‘Fuck’ and ‘Mitch’.

His undoing comes, with a shifting of position, a particular strong thrust to save himself from ungracefully slipping out. Apparently, it’s just at the right angle. Enough for Alex, whose hand has been loosely wrapped around the base of his own cock for a few moments, is suddenly clenching up around him.

In any other situation, Mitch knows he would be embarrassed to admit how easy he had come, chasing Alex’s own orgasm. Bent over Alex’s chest though, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to run through the mess Alex has made of himself, Mitch is so far removed from embarrassed.

Especially with the way his cock twitches as it slowly goes soft, at the way Alex murmurs ‘Next time I want to feel you inside me properly’.

Mitch wants to stay inside Alex forever, slips out slowly once it’s clear the discomfort now the high of the orgasm has disappeared.

It’s messy, the clean-up, no matter how sexy he tries to make licking the cum from Alex’s abs, which granted, he makes very sexy. They still fucked, with only lube as prep. No matter how shaky his legs are, or the tender Bambi like way Alex pads to the bathroom. Sheets still need changing, there’s a condom that still needs throwing away. Combined with the tacky feel of the leftover lube on his dick, a mess in his pubes. Wonders if there at the stage already where they can share the bathroom together, further than just brushing their teeth at the same time. So easy to be naked around people in other aspects. But right now, Mitch doesn’t know what to do.

There’s a mark on the wall, just above the bed post. He knows it intimately because he caused it with a poorly thought out bondage scene. Had had to plaster over the cracks for hours in fear the deposit would be lost. Then there’s the mess of the bed sheet, wrapped up in a ball from where he’d stripped the bed down. 

Funny, how much he needs Alex in this moment, to sink down into the sheets properly. Curl up and fall asleep together in the way they always do. Then they can wake up and make a mess of the sheets again. Over and over as if life doesn’t matter anymore.

That everything ends as just him and Alex.

‘Handsome’, it’s a nickname Mitch find’s he’s already too fond off. ‘Do you want to shower?’

And a shower will solve a few problems, like the mess on his body and the ache in his legs.

If it proves ample opportunity, to prop Alex’s leg up on the side and eat him out, then Mitch won’t complain. Or more, can’t complain. Tongue too busy chasing the odd mix of soap and lube. Kissing back up all the way to Alex’s neck once his tongue hurts too much to keep lapping. The long expanse of flesh something to mark with soft red bruises, already fading under the jet of water. Easy to wrap himself then around Alex, height difference meaning his dick slots not quite into the cleft of Alex’s ass. A slow grind aided by the gentle ministrations of washing each other. Punctuated by ‘You have no idea; how much I want to be inside you right now’.

Somehow, in a way Mitch won’t admit too, he likes the way their hands end up intertwined against the bathroom tiles. How he steps back to jerk his own dick a few times, a small trickle of cum spiralling down the drain. The frustration, radiating from both of them as the shower turns off and all evidence is washed away.

Not until there curled up with each other, does Mitch let it slip.

‘I really like you Lex’

-♡-

Hard to hold back the reply of ‘I love you’, but Alex find’s himself holding it back more and more. It had seemed to early, too cliché, to say the first time they had fucked. 

Or the second, or the third. And now they are so intertwined in each other that he doesn’t know when is right to say I love you. 

Held back by three words.

Thinking about how Mitch had slowly fucked him with a toy last night, opening him up with his tongue and then fingers. Legs aching from a long gym session, not aided by the way Mitch had him on all fours just to push the dildo deeper. The way Mitch had orgasmed all over his ass, warm cum splattered all over his cheeks and back, before going down on him. 

Jérôme slapping his arm and throwing a pointed look at him, is enough to break him out of the hazy memory distraction of last night. Not the wisest place then, for Alex to be staring into space thinking about how Mitch had suggested he keep a plug in during the gala. Or to reflect on how his refusal had been responded with a soft kiss on the nose and a smile. 

Eleanor is hanging of her husband’s arm delicately. She’s hilariously funny, suited to Jérôme in a way that Alex can’t hold back the ‘She’s amazing’ once he’s mentally caught up to the present. Jérôme seems chuffed, appreciative in the way she shows him off more than he shows her off. 

‘You should have brought your girlf-partner, it’s obvious to everyone you’ve worked something out’, Jérôme say’s it as if it’s an easy concept. 

It’s not Jérôme’s fault that he’s unaware, of the conversation Alex had with Mitch weeks ago now. How he’d spent half an hour practicing a pep talk in the mirror, only for the most deflated Mitch to admit he has a shoot that night, unable to move it to come to the gala. 

It’s fine. They work around clashes. Normally. No harm done save for a little sadness that he can’t show Mitch off. 

And it’s just that, he gets to wear his nicest suit. 

Plus, a lot of him wanted to tear Mitch out of a nice suit. They can do that anyway. Or at least Mitch can to him. Suddenly, being surrounded by couples that are showing each other off sucks. Even with Jérôme and Eleanor next to him, clearly in love in contrast to some falsified displays of affection on the dancefloor. It’s hard to not feel the ache of not having Mitch next to him.

Saved from the spiral by the other Alex. 

‘Jérôme, I think surely I’m enough for Lynn over here.’, the man had come alone, apologising that his babysitter was unwell. That the ‘Wife sends her love’. 

Now they’ve formed an unlikely alliance of Brits in the corner. Other Alex is easy to write off, yet able to joke himself about the way he looks as if he’s from the IT department instead of a lawyer. Blessed with a wickedly quick sense of humour. Not Mitch, at all. But not bad company either. 

‘Though, do spill the gossip Alexander’, Eleanor rests a gold bracelet covered wrist on his arm. Saying his name with a twinkle. 

‘His name is Mitch’, Alex knows he can tell the story, the one concocted in bedsheets when he had wondered how to admit who Mitch was if ever asked. 

‘Strong name, I imagine very handsome. Rugged’, Alex hates the accuracy with which other Alex calls Mitch out as. 

‘He’s a producer, from New Zealand’

‘Show us a picture Alexander, please’, Jérôme quietly requests, barely audible over the orchestra playing in the corner. 

It’s easy to show Mitch off, how there’s nearing a hundred pictures of them together, some in more states of disarray than others. Picks a picture of them, his arm wrapped around Mitch, there just in jeans and shirts, Mitch has the Aston Martin hat on his head, turned backwards. They’d been out with Norman and Stoffel, hanging out in a way that makes Alex feel like he’s slotted in well in a year’s long friendship. Norman had taken the photo, Mitch had been aware, a little more conscious of the constant presence of cameras. Meaning it’s Mitch staring down the lens, that model pout with the edges of his grin turned up slightly. While he himself, is looking half down at Mitch, with an arm half thrown over the shorter man’s shoulder.

Strange to get compliments about how he looks with Mitch. To not being the one that gives the compliments to Mitch. Other Alex laughing in his ear ‘Exactly how I thought’. 

‘He’s very suited for you’ Alex doesn’t want to lean too hard into what Jérôme means. ‘Just that, you look at each other in the way that you love each other. In the way that I hope I look at Eleanor’, as if to punctuate the words, Jérôme looks at his wife. And Alex isn’t sure if the man means to look that way, but there’s a radiance about them. Warm, easy to be pulled in by the affection that shines from both of the newlyweds. 

‘Jérôme sweetheart, let’s go dance, stop bothering Alex with how much you are in love with me, especially when his partners at home. Oh Alex, dance with me instead.’ 

Eleanor spins him round; she smells of expensive perfume that’s at odds with the inappropriate story she spills about her husband. Leaves him at the side with kisses on the cheeks and ‘Next time I hope Mitch can come; you seem very suited’ 

Alex finds himself only lasting an hour longer before he excuses himself early from the function. Semi sneaking out with other Alex, who at least has the excuse of kids at home to go back to. Walking the final few streets to the apartment, realising he’s going back to an empty bed, while Sims goes back to a wife and kids. 

Mitch has sent him a picture time stamped an hour ago, half naked with a handsome blond man that Alex vaguely recognises. Captioned ‘Adam says you are too hot for me’. Alex has no reply. Lost for words. Just full of a hollow ache that he wants to crawl into bed with Mitch. Some attachment he won’t get tonight. Just the empty swathes of sheets, freshly washed. 

Another night to sit with the fact he loves Mitch. That he’s yet to confess.

Except as he slides into the lobby of the complex, there’s Mitch, sat there on the edge of Nicki’s desk. Swinging his legs, face illuminated with the light from his phone screen, accompanied with the distinctive sound of Candy Crush that Alex can’t help but associate so strongly with his boyfriend. Vernon the night guard is nowhere in sight. 

‘Hey Lex’

Mitch has one of the reusable mugs next to him, the smell of peppermint tea strong across the lobby. Still focused entirely on the game. 

‘Let me just finish this level’, Mitch says, looking up. It’s flattering, how fast Mitch turns off the phone screen.

‘Holy shit’ 

Alex feels breathless under Mitch’s gaze, brown eyes wandering over him.

‘All the selfies didn’t do this justice, I’m sorry everything clashed. Have the most handsome boyfriend in the world and I didn’t even get to be more handsome than him. Adam apologises and has invited us out for dinner. He’ll cook’

Mitch is a constant calming chatter, all the way up the lift. Snuggled into his side, sneaking Candy Crush in one hand while the other’s wrapped around. 

There’s that weight again. The way he hadn’t planned to see Mitch at all tonight. But suddenly Mitch _is_ here. Tucked into his side in the way that’s so familiar for them. Alex in his suit while Mitch is clad in his favoured joggers and sweater combo. The lawyer and the porn star, Alex and Mitch, Mitch and Alex. 

Seems most appropriate, to be in the lift, traveling up to the eleventh floor. For the confession to come out.

‘Love you’

Candy Crush doesn’t stop, the lift keeps traveling up. Mitch just moves in a little closer, smelling of hair gel and freshly cleaned. 

‘Love you too Lex’ 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you deeply to the writing chat for the inspiration and motivation on this. i didn't use yuppie in the end but your advice was much treasured. (also J thank you so much for your continued encouragement in general)
> 
> to any new zealanders, i am so sorry for some inaccuracies. i know h2o is australian but look. LOOK. 
> 
> title, good in bed - dua lipa (which lyrically is the antithesis of this work but authors license)


End file.
